


The Settler

by charlesdk



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Farm/Ranch, Baker Bucky Barnes, Bearded Steve Rogers, Bisexual Steve Rogers, Canon Disabled Character, Canon-Typical Violence, Captain America Steve Rogers/Modern Bucky Barnes, Friends to Lovers, Gay Bucky Barnes, M/M, Minor Sharon Carter/Natasha Romanov, POV Steve Rogers, Post-Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie), Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Recovery, Sexual Content, Steve Rogers-centric, but without the snappening
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-15
Updated: 2019-05-21
Packaged: 2020-03-05 23:40:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 52,203
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18839152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/charlesdk/pseuds/charlesdk
Summary: “What do you want to do?”Steve pauses and looks at them.What he wants is to stay with them. He doesn't have any family left, they all died before he even joined the war and became... this. Captain America turned whatever he is now. But Natasha and Sam have become his family over the years. Not just because they're on the run together, fugitives and vigilantes, but way before that too.He doesn't want to leave that.But he knows that, realistically, he can't stay with them and they can't stay with him.So he looks at them with a smile and lies. “I don't know.”OR; In which Steve retires and finally finds a place to call home.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> canon vaguely exists here. mcu!clint does not.

They defeat Thanos in Wakanda.

The battle is long and seemingly endless and Steve doesn't think they'll win it. He loses that last bit of hope sometime after he looks across the field overrun by Outriders and more are storming in through the breached defenses in the distance. It's only then that his brain acknowledges how tired he is and how lifting his arms to keep fighting is a struggle, every breath painful.

Thanos is marching in the midst of it with his army like a shield around him. No, not marching. _Walking_ , as if he's in no hurry despite the battle around him. And maybe he has a right to because none of them have been able to get anywhere near him. Sam and Rhodey have both gotten relatively close from their positions in the sky but neither have gotten a hit on him.

Thanos is unbothered and marches on toward the lab.

Steve has lost hope but he can't stop fighting. It's not in him to stop. If he can be an obstacle in Thanos' path, no matter how small, and give Shuri a few extra seconds to extract the stone from Vision, then Steve is more than willing to do so. He's willing to die for it if it means saving half the universe.

Steve fights his way through the Outriders. Or rather, he tries to but he doesn't get far. The army is like a wall that he can't punch or force his way through because it punches back before he's made it more than an inch forward and knocks him down. His back hits the ground and the weight of at least three Outriders knock the air out of him.

For a brief second, he thinks this is the end.

And then in a flash, the weight is gone.

Steve sucks in breath after breath. He lays there until his vision is no longer blurry, then he turns his head and looks in the opposite direction of where the Outriders were thrown to. There's a huge beam of light striking down in the middle of the battlefield and out of it steps Thor. His hair is short, there's a patch over his right eye, and sparks are flying around his clenched fists.

There's a raccoon on his shoulder, a walking tree on his right, and an angry looking blue woman wielding a big axe on his left.

Steve blinks, then blinks again.

Okay.

Despite the million questions in his head, Steve smiles when he sees them. Or rather, when he sees _him_. He stays on the ground to catch his breath and watches as Thor and his... companions join the battle by taking out a few handfuls of Outriders.

But when Thor catches his eye and starts coming toward him, Steve pulls himself to his feet with a groan and ignores the pain shooting through his body.

“Thor,” he says, voice strained and breathless. “New haircut?”

Thor smiles at him. “Noticed you've copied my beard,” he says and gestures to his own face.

Steve huffs out a tired laugh and hangs his head, his shoulders slumping. He didn't grow a beard to copy Thor; he grew it because he wanted to see if he could and then he ended up liking it a lot more than he thought he would. But he's too tired to argue so he doesn't.

He opens his mouth to say something else, not to argue though not to agree either, but all words die in his throat when he lifts his gaze from the ground and looks back over at Thor. He saw the sparks flying around Thor's fists when he landed and those sparks have turned into small lightning bolts that travel up along his flexed arms. They're in his eyes too, turning them a bright white.

Steve stares, a little dumbfounded.

That's new.

“We can catch up later,” Thor says. “For now, we have a universe to save.”

Steve nods as he takes in a breath. “What's the plan?” he asks. “We haven't been able to stop Thanos and he's getting closer to the lab and the stone every second.”

“Let me handle that.”

The blue woman from earlier marches by them, interrupting Thor before he can even get a single syllable out in response. The axe in her hands is raised and though it's about the size of herself, she lifts it with ease. She looks furious; shoulders squared, jaw clenched, a fire in her dark eyes, and her grip on the axe's handle so tight that Steve fears it'll snap under the pressure.

Steve watches her as she takes off into a sprint and plows through the wall of Outriders in her way, swinging the axe to knock them away and letting out a war cry that rings loudly throughout the battlefield. She runs and doesn't let anything stop her, creating a pathway of destruction in her wake with every swing and every furious punch.

A tiny bit of hope flickers alive in Steve's chest as he watches her.

She's angry and clearly out for revenge but maybe that's what they need.

“New friend?” he asks Thor without looking away.

“Nebula,” Thor says. “She has... history with Thanos.”

Nebula disappears into the mass, swallowed up by the fight, and Steve finally takes his eyes off of her. He turns to Thor, expecting him to elaborate on that, but Thor doesn't and instead takes off with a sparkling leap into the air. He lands somewhere in the field, right down in the middle of a group of Outriders.

Steve takes in a deep breath, then he grips tightly onto his shields and goes back to the fight.

The battle lasts an eternity more, even with the new help. Steve keeps fighting even though every part of him keeps screaming with each movement and even though it gets harder and harder to get back up every time he gets knocked down.

 _Get knocked down seven times, stand up eight_ , his mother always told him.

She never had to fight thousands of Outriders though.

But it's engraved in him so he can't stop or give up because if he does then that's the end and he refuses to let that happen. As long as one person stands against Thanos and his army, they will never claim victory. And Steve will be that person if he has to.

Steve loses sight of his teammates during the battle. Occasionally, he sees a dora milaje or a border tribe warrior taking down Outriders around him and sometimes he sees the opposite, though he tries not to look then. In the distance, he can see lightning and Thor leaping into the air and occasionally, he sees Sam flying over his head, guns in hand and assisting him when Steve is struggling.

He can't see any of the others, including Nebula. He can't see her but he hears when the battle comes to an abrupt and sudden end. Her roar is deafening and is followed by the Outriders letting out piercing screeches in the air. They flee and run toward the hole in the defenses with Proxima, though the Wakandan warriors chase after them and catch several.

And Steve is left to stand there, shields raised and chest heaving with exhausted breaths and brows furrowed with confusion. He turns in circles until he sees Nebula. She's standing in the now empty field, hands empty and eyes on the dead body lying by her feet. Thanos, the axe lodged into his head and the gauntlet smashed around his hand, the stones scattered on the ground.

Steve lowers his shields and lets his knees buckle under him. They hit the ground below right when Wanda comes flying out from the window in the lab but he closes his eyes before he can see her land. The shields fall from his hands and he crumbles to the ground, beyond exhausted.

Battles, missions, fights. They're always exhausting but it's different this time.

It's too much. _Way_ too much.

And it's not just this one either.

Steve draws his knees up and folds his arms over them while he breathes quietly. He can hear footsteps around him, both rushed and not, and a distant chatter of voices but he doesn't hear any of the words said. His ears are ringing, his heart is pounding too loud, and breathing hurts. His whole body aches with pain.

A couple ribs are probably broken, he thinks. They hurt when his chest expands with each breath though it's more of a numb pain, unlike the one in his right arm. That isn't broken and he knows because he can curl all his fingers and roll his wrist but it hurts when he does. Sprained, probably.

It's fine. He'll heal.

“Steve.”

Steve opens his eyes. It takes him a second to lift his head and look up.

Sam is standing in front of him. He looks worse for wear; his goggles are shattered and sitting on his forehead now that they no longer protect his eyes. His suit is ripped and coated with blood, ooze, dust, and various other things. He's got a couple scratches here and there and he holds his shoulder a little weird but otherwise he's mostly unscathed, luckily.

Steve takes in a deep breath and lets it back out.

“Who did we lose?” he asks because he has to know.

“I don't know yet,” Sam tells him. “Okoye is doing a headcount.”

“T'Challa?”

“Getting help to the injured.”

“And... the others?”

“They're okay. Mostly. Nat's with Ayo, helping T'Challa. Rhodey and Nakia are doing a perimeter search with the dora milaje and a couple tribes. Taking care of any Outriders that decided to stick around. Banner has the, uh. The tree and the raccoon? I've got about a million questions about that, by the way.”

Steve huffs, a tired and crooked smile on his lips. “Yeah, me too,” he murmurs.

“And our blue savior is with Thor,” Sam continues. “They're okay. All of them. In need of five days of sleep, probably, but they're alive and breathing.”

Steve nods. “The stones?”

“Wanda's taking care of them.”

Steve exhales and hums in acknowledgment. He looks out over the field. The grass that was once bright green and healthy has now become brown and painted with pools of blood and ooze and dead Outriders. There are only a few patches of green left as far as the eye reaches.

He can see dora milaje and tribe warriors walking around; some are limping while others are walking fine and carrying others in their arms or over their shoulder. Some are merely sitting together, foreheads pressed together and holding each other. Some are sitting by themselves, staring blankly ahead, and some aren't moving.

They may have won the battle but they still lost in so many ways, Wakanda especially.

Steve should be angry on their behalf and he is. But there isn't a single ounce of energy left in him so the anger is nothing but a dull ache in his chest, saved for later. His eyes land on Thanos' body as it's dragged away by two rhinos. He should be angry but he doesn't have more fight left in him.

Steve looks back at Sam and asks, “And you?”

Sam smiles but it's hollow. “I need to sleep for the next year but I'm alive.”

Steve smiles back, well aware that it's just as hollow. It slips from his lips the moment he takes his eyes off of Sam. This used to be such a beautiful field. He's sat on the top of the hill and watched the sunrise with Nakia during several of the times he's visited over the past year. Now it looks like a disaster.

They won but it doesn't feel like a victory.

And it's far from the first time he's felt like this.

“You okay, man?” Sam asks him.

Steve clenches his jaw and takes in a breath.

“I'm done,” he says and means it.

✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰

“I'm retiring.”

The first time Steve says those words, they come out sounding unsure. When he repeats them for the third time, standing in the bathroom and looking into the mirror, they start to sound a little less uncertain and more like he means them. He practices until he can say those words without wavering and then he walks out and into the main room.

Fury is standing by the weapons rack hung up on the wall next to the kitchen area. His arms are crossed and one hand is by his chin, thumb and forefinger holding his chin and a thoughtful expression on his face. Taking mental inventory, most likely.

Maria is sitting by the table in the middle of the room. She's cleaning her gun, the gun pulled apart and spread out on the surface before her. She's taking her time with it too, one leg bend and her foot on the chair she's sitting on, arm resting on her knee.

The battle in Wakanda was only a week ago. They're in a safe house in downtown Manhattan now because Natasha wanted to see Fury as soon as possible after the battlefield had been cleaned and T'Challa told them they were free to go, assured them Wakanda would be fine. Fury is still officially dead to everyone except for the few he trusts so this is where he lives now; hidden in plain sight with Maria's help.

Steve is still considered a fugitive, as are Natasha and Sam. The three of them have been driving around the country and never staying for too long in one place but Steve has a feeling they will be staying here for a while. Until Natasha and Sam have made a full recovery, at least. And then they'll be back to their usual business; running and hiding and carefully choosing their fights.

The Nomads. That's what the media started calling them when they started showing up around the world when the remaining Avengers didn't or took too long.

Or. Maybe Natasha and Sam will continue but Steve won't.

He can't do that anymore.

He wants— no, he _needs_ to hang it all up and leave it behind for good.

For his own sanity.

Steve stands there for a few seconds too long before he takes in a deep breath and squares his shoulders as if he's preparing for a fight. He doesn't expect it to be glossed over easily nor does he expect to retire without a fight and he's prepared for it.

“I'm retiring,” he says then, proud that his words come out firmly.

In front of him, Maria immediately stops cleaning her gun and looks up from the piece in her hands. She looks surprised and maybe a little confused. Fury takes a second longer to turn away from the weapons rack but he does and then looks at him, chin out of his hand.

“Good morning, Rogers,” Fury says. “So nice to see you. How's the road trip going?”

“Retiring?” Maria asks.

“Yes,” Steve says without looking away from Fury. “I'm retiring.”

Fury looks at him for a long and silent minute, then he turns around and walks over to the table. Steve follows him and sits down on the opposite side of the table, on the chair next to Maria. Fury leans back in his seat, eyes still on Steve, and Steve looks back.

“Retire,” Fury says then, after a long silence.

“Yes,” Steve says. “Retire.”

“And you're sure about it?”

Steve pauses. “No,” he says, “but I can't do this anymore.”

Fury nods, not in acceptance but in understanding. “Okay,” he says.

“Nick,” Maria starts to protest but she doesn't get to finish.

“The man has served long enough, Hill,” Fury says. “Danvers is on her way back and there are plenty others around to help when we need it. Besides, he doesn't answer to us anymore. If he wants to retire, he can retire. It's not up to us.”

Maria opens her mouth but snaps it shut a second later. She doesn't argue.

“Thank you,” Steve says and then stands back up.

A quiet falls over the room while Steve brews a fresh pot of coffee. He pulls two mugs out from one of the cabinets and fills them, then he returns to the table, handing one of them to Fury. Fury doesn't even so much as glance at it before he grabs it and dibs his chin in a nod as a silent thank you, blowing at the steam.

When Steve sits down in his seat again, he notices Maria watching him carefully. He looks back at her and raises a brow in question.

“I never took you for one to retire,” Maria says.

“Neither did I,” Steve admits.

“So why are you?”

Steve pauses and looks down at the steaming coffee in his hands.

He thinks about Peggy. Once upon a time, he had sat with her and talked about life after the war. She had told him that she wanted to do so much in this world. Help make it a better place, build her career, maybe have kids some day but never settle down. And she did live a life. A wonderful life.

Steve is jealous. Not because he wishes he had that life with her, no. She moved on a long time ago and while a part of him will always be sad that they never got the chance to have _something_ , he's happy for the life that she had and wouldn't wish for it to be any different. He has moved on too.

He's jealous because she had a good life, doing what she loved. Steve has always been fighting and he doesn't know any different but fighting has never been something that made him happy. It made him feel alive and fighting comes natural to him but it's not what he loves doing. At this point, he doesn't even know what it is that he loves doing.

 _Sometimes the best that we can do is to start over_ , Peggy once told him.

Steve thinks maybe that's what he needs to do to find out.

“Because,” he starts, “I don't remember not fighting. I'm a hundred years old. I wasn't awake for all one-hundred of those years but in the ones that I was, I've never not been fighting. I've had enough. I don't know when or even if the serum will let me die of old age but I would like to live life a little before then.”

Next to him, Fury smiles into his mug.

“I understand,” Maria says. “I suppose you've done enough for the world.”

Steve huffs. “I hope the world thinks the same.”

“If not,” Fury says, “tell it to beat it.”

Steve laughs quietly under his breath.

“So,” Maria says after a beat. “What do you plan to do in your retirement?”

Steve shrugs, a smile on his lips. “I don't know.”

✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰

During the weeks they spend recovering in New York, Steve went to a couple different VA support groups in the area with Sam whenever they could. Sam needs it sometimes. Sometimes he just needs to sit and talk to people who get it and who have been in similar situations and sometimes Steve needs that too, though their situations are... different. Similar but still so different.

Sam talks sometimes. He talks about Riley and the aftermath of losing someone so important to him. He talks about his homeless situation but always keeps it as vague as possible to not raise suspicion. Fortunately — or maybe not so fortunately — it's not unusual for veterans to be homeless. At least one other person is in the same situation, at least.

Steve doesn't talk. He hasn't talked even once since he started joining Sam a few months ago because while he wants to, while he has so much to say, he doesn't know how to keep it vague enough to not give himself or Sam away. They can't risk it.

So he doesn't talk. But it's nice to sit here and know he's not alone.

When they leave New York and find a VA in the town in Michigan they decide stop at, the place looks so similar to the last one they went to in New York that when they step inside, Steve forgets they ever even left in the first place. But the attendance here is much smaller and barely even fills up the circle of chairs lined up in the room.

With their caps low over their eyes, Steve and Sam sit down next to each other on empty seats and listen when the session starts. Neither of them talk this time and no one tries to push them to either.

Afterward, they hang back to help stack up the chairs even though the organizer — a round man in his late fifties with graying hair and a prosthetic leg who tells them his name is Marvin — tells them they don't have to. Not that either of them listen to that.

“Thank you, guys,” he says on an exhale. “I really appreciate the help.”

“No problem,” Sam says. “Thank you for letting us sit in.”

“'Course. Door's always open for anyone.”

Steve grabs a stack of chairs from Sam and carries them over to the corner where the rest are stored. He doesn't say anything and stays there as he puts the chair away while Sam talks to Marvin. If it weren't for the serum heightening his senses, he wouldn't be able to hear what they're saying but he eavesdrops anyway.

“Me and my buddy,” Sam is saying. “We're just passing through.”

“Road tripping?” Marvin asks.

“Exactly,” Sam says. “You wouldn't happen to know anywhere good to eat, would you?”

Marvin pauses for a beat then he says, “There's a diner 'bout five minutes from here. Pretty affordable. Great burgers.”

“Sounds perfect. Do they do takeout?”

“Oh, they sure do. My wife and I get dinner from there too often.”

Steve turns around to see Sam smile and shake Marvin's hand as he thanks him.

They leave and get back into the car once the room has been cleaned up. Steve gets into the driver's seat and Sam settles in the passenger's seat, neither of them having to say a word because this is routine at this point.

“You gonna text Nat?” Steve asks as he starts the engine.

“Already on it,” Sam says and pulls his phone out.

The diner is small and busy but they still get their order (eight burgers, three large fries) quicker than most other places. It smells like fresh food the whole drive back to their hotel and both their stomachs rumble in hunger but neither of them cave and dig in before they get there.

Natasha is laying starfished on one of the two beds when they step into their room, her knees bend and feet flat on the still unmade surface. She turns her head to look at them when the door opens and she smiles, small and crooked.

“Hey, fellas,” she says. “Did you bring me food?”

“Yes, your highness,” Sam says and tosses a bag in her direction.

She catches it on her way up to sit and opens it while tugging her legs under herself in a crisscross position. She inhales deeply and makes an appreciative sound before pulling out a wrapped burger in each hand. She hands one to Steve when he comes to sit down next to her. Sam joins them on the bed, the other bag open in one hand and a burger in the other.

They eat in silence for a while.

Steve wolfs down his burger and reaches into a bag to start on a second one before Sam and Natasha are even halfway through their first. They've been stuck in the same space for long though so it comes as no surprise and no one makes a comment. Steve eats three times more than they do, they all know this.

“How was the VA?” Natasha asks around a mouthful after a while.

“Same as usual,” Sam says with a shrug. “How was the nap?”

“Same as usual,” Natasha echoes.

Steve snorts. “Exciting lives we're leading,” he says dryly.

Natasha hums and looks at him. “Your retired life isn't much different that your working life,” she says.

“I guess not.”

“Why is that?”

Steve shrugs. “I don't know.”

“You could do everything you've always wanted to.”

“And leave you two alone?” Steve scoffs, though halfheartedly. “I don't think so.”

“Oh, you think we wouldn't make it without you?” Sam asks.

“I didn't mean it like that—”

“The world won't end without you to protect it,” Natasha says. “You're retired so. Retire.”

Sam hums in agreement then he asks, “What do you want to do?”

Steve pauses and looks at them.

What he wants is to stay with them. He doesn't have any family left, they all died before he even joined the war and became... this. Captain America turned whatever he is now. But Natasha and Sam have become his family over the years. Not just because they're on the run together, fugitives and vigilantes, but way before that too.

He doesn't want to leave that.

But he knows that, realistically, he can't say with them and they can't stay with him. He retired for a reason and that reason is something the two people he calls family are still fighting so it's only a matter of time before something happens and they get called in for help because no one else will.

But not now, not yet. Steve doesn't want to let go just yet.

So he looks at them with a smile and lies.

“I don't know.”

✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰

They drive to Wyoming almost a month later and that's when the world catches up to them.

They're in a motel in Greybull when Natasha's phone goes off unexpectedly. Steve and Sam's conversation comes to an abrupt halt and Natasha's hand freezes over the paper she's been writing on. All three of them look toward the phone that's ringing and vibrating on the bedside table further in the room.

Natasha swaps out her phone every week and only a select few gets the new number each time; Sharon because her and Natasha are... friends and possibly more, Kate because Clint has a bad habit of not keeping track of his phone and therefor won't be reachable, and Fury as well as Maria in case of emergency and emergency only.

Natasha leans over to look at the phone and judging by the look on her face, Steve guesses the caller is the latter. Which means emergency.

“Suit up?” Steve ask but doesn't move to get up.

Natasha looks at him. “I guess we'll see,” she says and then accepts the call.

The news are this; there's an attack happening in Spain and the situation is getting out of hand so the Avengers— what little is left of them— need help with keeping the civilians safe while they take care of the hostiles. Maria is the one telling them this and she wants them to suit up and give them a hand. A couple more won't hurt, she says.

“On our way,” Natasha tells her and hangs up.

The second the phone is down, they get moving. Sam goes over to grab the bag with their uniforms and equipment that they've been storing on the top shelf in the closet while Natasha grabs the car keys and steps into her shoes.

Steve gets up too, acting on instinct. But Sam stops him with a hand on his chest before he can follow them out the door.

“You stay here,” Sam says firmly and looks him in the eye.

“But—”

“Steve. You're retired. Stay.”

Steve doesn't get a say in the matter. Sam keeps his hand on his chest to keep him from moving any closer to the door while he hands off the equipment bag to Natasha as she passes them and walks out the door. He gives him a look that reminds Steve vaguely of an owner telling his dog to stay put and then he backs out the door, keeping their eyes locked until the door is closed.

So Steve stays and paces for fives days.

He keeps the room's old and barely functioning television on the news channel at all hours of the day and his phone never leaves his side for even a second. Those days are awfully long and he must run the carpet on the floor thin because he paces and paces and paces and doesn't stop.

Guilt settles in the pit of his stomach. The fact that he's not out there helping them control the situation too when he has every ability and time to do so is killing him. But most of all, he feels restless and he doesn't know what to do with himself. He tries to do other things to take his mind off whatever is happening in the news but none of it works.

His eyes keep drifting back to his phone or the television.

He can't focus. Not when he knows he could and maybe should be out there with them.

In the middle of the sixth day, Sam calls. Steve picks up on the first ring and breathes out a relieved sigh when Sam tells him they've got the situation under control and the hostiles have been taken care of.

He and Natasha will be heading back to Wyoming at dawn, he says.

When the call ends, Steve sits down on the bed with a frown on his lips and his eyes locked onto the phone in his hand. The mission is over and the situation is handled. People are safe and getting help.

But he still feels amped up. Guilty. Restless.

This isn't healthy and he knows it. Being around this will only make him more self destructive than he already is. And it needs to stop before it kills him.

He can't be around this life anymore.

✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰

Steve doesn't bring it up right away.

When Sam and Natasha return, they're both exhausted and pass out the second their heads hit the pillow. Steve lets them sleep and goes out to get them something to eat for when they wake up. He doesn't bring it up for a couple days while the two of them recover and get back on their feet, Natasha first and then Sam shortly after.

He waits until they're in the car again, on the way to Clint's place in Brooklyn. Steve is behind the wheel with Sam on his right in the passenger's seat, as usual. Natasha is in the backseat, her back against the window and her legs stretched out over the other seat and ignoring all safety rules. The radio is on but it's turned down low, the music barely louder than the car engine.

They drive for hours, then Steve tightens his grip on the wheel and swallows thickly.

“I can't do this anymore,” he says without taking his eyes off the road.

“You need me to take over for a bit?” Sam asks and gestures to the wheel.

“No,” Steve says. “I mean... I can't stay. Here. With you.”

Natasha shifts behind them and pops out between them with her elbow resting on both their seats. She looks at Steve but Steve doesn't look back, keeps his eyes on the road even though he can feel both of them staring at him.

He shifts but doesn't waver his gaze.

“What do you mean?” Natasha asks after a beat.

“I mean,” Steve says, “it's not good for me here.”

“You don't have to explain yourself,” Sam cuts in. “And you definitely don't have to stay with us. I actually think it'd be good for you to leave us for a while.”

Steve glances his way and smiles, small and quick.

Sam smiles back.

“Do you plan to stay away forever?” Natasha asks.

She sounds curious but Steve knows her. She has never had anyone to call family but she considers them— Steve, Sam, Sharon, Clint— family, much like Steve himself. She once told him that she's never allowed herself to get attached to anyone because dealing with letting go was too painful for her. To lose something she never thought she could have in the first place.

So while she sounds curious and interested, Steve knows him leaving is hurting her.

“I think I have to,” he tells her because he can't lie. “But you can visit, wherever I end up.”

Natasha hums. “Better make sure you have a guest bedroom then,” she says.

Steve smiles and says, “I will.”

✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰

Clint isn't home when they arrive. There's a note pinned to the front door by an arrowhead that tells them he has gone out to pick up pizza so his one-eyed labrador retriever named Lucky is the one to greet them when they open the unlocked door.

Lucky weaves between their legs, tail wagging happily. He follows them back inside with expectant eyes until they drop their bags and finally greet him properly.

By the time Clint comes home with a four pizza boxes balanced on his arm, Lucky has made himself comfortable in Natasha's lap on the couch. Lucky barely even notices his arrival though his tail does wag, thumping against the couch cushion.

Clint stares at the two for a long couple seconds, then he turns to look at Sam and Steve who are standing in the kitchen to the right of the door.

Steve smiles at him and raises his hand in a silent hello.

“911,” Clint says. “I have fugitives in my home.”

“Your door is wide open, Barton,” Natasha reminds him.

“My residents don't care,” Clint says but he shuts the door anyway. “We've been through enough. Harboring fugitives is just another Sunday night event.”

“Sounds dangerous,” Sam comments.

“We make do,” Clint says, then lifts the pizzas. “Anyway, hi. I brought pizza.”

They eat the pizza on the floor. Natasha doesn't move from her spot on the couch and since it's only a two persons and Lucky is taking up the rest of the space, the other three are left to sit on the floor.

It's not so bad though, Steve decides while he makes himself comfortable in a crisscross position next to Sam who sits with his knees to his chest instead, pillow underneath him.

Clint decides to sit perched on the arm of the couch instead, feet tugged underneath Lucky's rear end. Lucky doesn't seem to mind it. In fact, he looks perfectly happy right there; warming Clint's feet and getting his ear scratched by Natasha.

The pizza boxes get placed onto the wobbly coffee table in front of the couch. Clint doesn't own a single clean or unbroken plate and they all know this so none of them ask for it and Clint doesn't get back up to get anything to use as pseudo plates. They eat with their hands, like usual.

It's good pizza though Steve doesn't taste the first three slices because he practically inhales them. He slows down after the fourth and tunes into the conversation now that his stomach is no longer trying to kill him with hunger.

It doesn't take long before Clint turns the conversation onto him.

“So, Steve,” he says around a mouthful. “I heard you retired.”

“I did,” Steve confirms and reaches for a fifth slice.

“Welcome to the club.” Clint raises his slice in a cheer, a piece of pepperoni sliding off.

Steve raises his own back with a smile before stuffing it into his mouth.

“You figured out what you're gonna do now?” Clint asks.

Steve takes in a breath. “I'm working on it.”

“You could get a farm,” Sam says.

Steve looks at him and blinks. “A farm,” he repeats flatly.

“Sure,” Sam says with a shrug. “Why not?”

“My brother has a farm,” Clint says.

Steve pauses, eyes back on Clint. “I didn't know you had a brother,” he says.

“There's a lot you don't know about me,” Clint says and bites into his pizza slice.

It's not a lie. Steve considers Clint to be one of his friend, not quite family but close enough, and yet he doesn't know much about him. He only really knows what he's been able to pick up on his own and what little Natasha has told him. Clint doesn't open up to many.

Steve doesn't dwell on it. He doesn't open up to many either.

Steve looks back at Sam and asks, “Why would I get a farm?”

“Again,” Sam says, “why not?”

“Because I'm a born and raised city kid,” Steve says slowly. “A farm is... out of my league.”

“Hey, it was just a suggestion,” Sam says. “What you decide is up to you.”

Steve hums and bites into his pizza slice.

✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰

He doesn't stop thinking about it, after.

Steve was born in the city. He's lived in the city his whole life and doesn't know any different. He likes it there, likes the busy and noisy kerfuffle of it. The city is what he knows as home and has never considered living anywhere else before.

But that was then and this is now. Things have changed.

For one, people in the city are quick to recognize him when he's not being careful. People know him. His life (or a skewed part of it) is history and taught in school. And that makes being a fugitive in the city much more complicated. It's why they never stay in one place for too long.

So maybe living somewhere... smaller would be good. Safer.

He starts by looking up remote towns around the country, although he makes sure to research each town he comes across as thoroughly as possible. Small towns have a bad reputation for being close minded and Steve has a hard time ignoring close minded people, especially when they're loud with their opinions. And that can only lead to trouble.

It's only a couple days later that he finds himself looking at farms too. He knows next to nothing about farming aside from what little he's learned from the movies he's watched and the books he's read during these past few years. He has a vague idea of what farming involves and it sounds... peaceful.

The idea is appealing to him, he can't deny it. He likes the idea of retiring and moving somewhere with less noise. The simple life. He wants to experience life now that he doesn't have all this responsibility weighing him down. He wants to live, wants to know what feeling at peace is like.

He wants to settle down somewhere, find a place to call home.

Start over. Figure out what he loves doing.

“What are you looking at?”

Steve turns his phone over to hide the screen in a split second. He looks up at Clint who is sitting down next to him on the couch with a cup of steaming coffee in his hand. Clint looks back at him, his brows raised as he blows the steam away and takes a careful sip of the coffee.

Judging by the wince, he burns his tongue anyway.

“What?” Steve asks dumbly.

“You were staring at your phone,” Clint says. “What were you looking at?”

Steve pauses for a beat. “Nothing,” he says.

Clint narrows his eyes and hums.

Steve clears his throat and shifts uncomfortably under his stare.

Clint keeps looking at him, eyes following Steve even as Steve leans forward and puts the now locked phone on the table in front of them. It only takes until he sits back upright on the couch before Steve breaks.

“I was looking at farms,” he admits with a sigh.

“I know,” Clint says. “I've got eyes like a hawk.”

Steve snorts, a crooked smile on his lips.

“If you're serious about it though,” Clint says, “I can ask Barney if he knows a place for sale.”

“Barney?”

“My brother.”

Steve thinks about it for a moment, then he shrugs. “Why not? Can't hurt to look.”

Clint smiles and lifts his fist. “That's the spirit, bro.”

Steve bumps with his own fist against Clint's with an airy chuckle.

✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰

 

Steve gets a call from Barney a few days later.

“I'm not a real estate agent,” Barney says after their hellos, “but I do know a few places up for grabs. Any specific wishes?”

“Not really,” Steve says. “Whatever you've got is fine.”

“Simple man. Not what I was expecting.”

“Well. I'm only looking right now, so.”

“Alright.” There's a pause, then Barney continues. “I know a place. Went up for sale last year but it's been abandoned for longer so it's not gonna be the prettiest but it is cheap.”

“Okay. Where is it?”

Barney rattles off an address and tells him to meet him there in three days.

The second the call ends, Steve packs his bag and grabs the car keys. Neither Sam nor Natasha try to stop him nor do they ask questions. They just let him go.

✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰

 

The farm is... not the prettiest.

The property is huge and was probably beautiful when it was properly taken care of. But according to Barney, no one has tended to it for years and it shows. The grass is overgrown everywhere and the wooden fence lining the property is old and broken-down. The gate separating the property from the road leading up to it has an ear-piercing squeak when they push it open.

The farmhouse is the closest to the gate, the front door facing out toward the road, and that actually doesn't look too bad for having not been cared for in so long. The two steps leading up to the porch that surrounds the house creaks when they step on them but Steve thinks he could probably live with that.

It's a big house too; three bedrooms, a big kitchen and living room, two bathrooms with still functioning plumbing, and windows that let in so much light that every room feels almost perfect even though the sunlight highlights all the dust in the air and everywhere in every room. There are no furniture either but the place feels nice and sturdy.

Homey.

Barney leads him down along a trail from the side-door. It takes them to a pasture, fenced in though the fence here is broken-down and old too. There's a large barn nearby, the doors (open and one visibly broken) facing out toward the pasture, and there are a few troughs filled with dirty rain water placed here and there with no seeming order.

Steve leans forward and rests his arms on the fence to the pasture, a small smile on his lips.

Next to him, Barney comes to a halt and stands with his arms crossed over his belly. He doesn't say anything and neither does Steve. They stand there and look out over the tall grass in front of them, dancing in the cool breeze that sweeps over them.

“Used to be a ranch,” Barney says then. “And a lot better looking too. It'll need a lot of care but—”

“I'll take it,” Steve interrupts.

Barney looks at him. “Really?” he asks. He sounds surprised.

And to be honest, Steve is too.

“Yeah,” he says anyway. “I can work with this.”

✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰

 

Steve doesn't own much anymore. Not that he ever did before. He has always kept his possessions to a minimum, especially after waking up in this century. His apartment in downtown Manhattan still has some of his things but that's undoubtedly being monitored and he can't risk sneaking in there for the few art pieces he fell in love with and bought. It's not worth it.

All he owns is in one bag now so packing doesn't take long. Natasha sits on the air mattress laid out on the floor in Clint's apartment that he's been sleeping on, watching him stuff his things into the bag. There's a crooked smile on her lips and something obviously on her mind.

“Okay,” Steve says after the silence has stretched for too long. “What?”

“Oh, nothing,” Natasha says. “It's just sad to see how little you have to pack.”

Steve shrugs. “Makes it easier to move,” he says.

“I suppose. How _do_ you plan on moving by the way? On foot?”

“I was gonna rent a car, actually.”

Natasha hums. “What if you already had one?”

“I can't take our car, Nat. You and Sam need it.”

“Oh, I'm not talking about that car.”

Steve looks at her and gives her a questioning look.

Natasha smiles and holds up her hand. A set of keys dangles from her middle finger.

Steve stares at her. “Did you get me a car?” he asks.

“No,” Natasha says. “I got you a pickup truck.”

“Nat—”

“Think of it as a housewarming present.”

Steve sighs and puts his hands on his hips.

Natasha responds to his disapproving look with a wider smile and jingles the key.

Steve looks at her for another long moment, then he exhales sharply and takes the keys from her.

“This is too much,” he tells her.

“Relax,” Natasha says. “It's a used pickup. It might not even last that long anyway.”

Steve shakes his head. He's willing to bet the pickup truck will last a long time. Natasha wouldn't give it to him if it was going to break down within the first few months, he knows this and she knows that he knows. But he doesn't say anything about it and instead merely smiles at her.

Natasha smiles back and gets to her feet without Steve having to tell her to. Steve steps forward and wraps her up in a hug that she returns with a chuckle. It's a tight albeit brief hug and when they step apart, Natasha smiles up at him.

“Come on,” she says. “We're throwing you a goodbye part.”

✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰

The 'party' is the four of them sitting on the floor with takeout in their laps and drinks in hand. Wanda facetimes from her temporary hideout in Romania that she went to after the battle in Wakanda. Steve had offered to take her with them but she had smiled, thanked him, and said she wanted to be on her own for the time being. Take a breather, find herself.

It's late in Romania now but Wanda doesn't look the least bit tired. She smiles and laughs and plays along when they start up a game on Clint's Xbox and Steve wishes, not for the first time, that she was here with them instead of on a screen and hundreds of miles away.

But she looks happy. Healthy. Less tired and sad.

Being on her own is good for her, it seems.

The party is good, though Steve would barely call it a party. They eat and talk until the early hours of the morning and hang out like it's just any other day. But when they cheer, it's to wish Steve good luck on his retirement and new house and when they turn in right before sunrise, Sam gives him a hug that's much tighter than their usual ones.

Steve hugs him back and hides his face in his shoulder, closing his eyes for just a moment.

It feels bittersweet to say goodbye but he knows they'll see each other again.

And Steve is ready to move on. It's time.

✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰

 

Steve doesn't go to bed.

Once the others have fallen asleep and the apartment is quiet, he grabs his bag and quietly walks out the front door. He almost feels bad for taking off without warning but he knows that if he stays any longer, he would only keep making excuses not to go.

It's better to do it like this and he knows that Sam and Natasha will understand. He left a note with his new address and a rough doodle of a man trekking off with a bag slung over his shoulder and his hand raised in a wave on the fridge so he didn't up and disappear without a trace, although he did briefly consider it.

He gets into his new (very clearly used) pickup truck and drives off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> rebloggable post on [tumblr](https://mlmsrogers.tumblr.com/post/184899187973).
> 
> all chapters have been written and will be posted regularly.
> 
> kudos and comments give me life!


	2. Chapter 2

Steve wakes up with a sore back and sunlight in his face.

When he arrived at the farm yesterday, the sun had already gone down and the whole property was left in pitch darkness. He was exhausted from the long drive so after flipping the switch in the entry hall to turn on the lights around the perimeter, Steve had unpacked his sleeping bag and laid down on the floor of the master bedroom. He hadn't even bothered shutting the curtains.

He regrets that decision now. The sun hurts his eyes and his back aches even though his body is used to sleeping on hard surfaces and uncomfortable places. It aches even after he's sat up and stretched until both his back and his shoulders make a satisfying pop. He groans and rubs the sleep out of his eyes, keeping them shut for another minute before he reaches out for his phone.

His phone tells him that it's just past five am which seems like a good time to get up.

He rolls up the sleeping bag and carelessly kicks it into the corner of the room where he left his bag the night before too. He does a couple stretches, bends down to touch his toes once or twice to help the ache in his back, and then he gets dressed and walks out the side-door.

Standing on the steps and looking out over the— _his_ property, Steve feels... overwhelmed.

There's so much in front of him. The tall and overgrown grass stretches for acres and acres. The fence is so old and broken-down and the wood has snapped in numerous places along the property. He doesn't even want to think about the barn or the stables inside or the troughs in the pasture or, well, any of it.

Steve takes in a deep breath, heart in his throat.

Then he hops into his pickup truck and drives off.  
  


✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰  
  


The nearest town is a good thirty minute drive away.

Steve makes it in twenty-four, doesn't slow down until the first diner he comes across and decides to park by. He sits in the pickup for far longer than he's willing to admit before he lets out a breath, tugs the cap on his head a little further down, and hops out.

When he steps into the diner, he's greeted by a waitress who smiles at him as soon as the door open. Her light brown hair is wildly curly and pulled into a messy bun on the back of her head. There's a ring in her bottom lip but that does nothing to distract from how bright and inviting her smile is.

Her name-tag reads Jessica and Steve smiles back at her

“Good morning, sir,” Jessica says. “Go pick a table and I'll be right there with you.”

“Thank you,” Steve says with a nod. He picks a table in the back and sits down.

It's a cozy little place, this diner. It almost reminds him of the one he used to work at for a couple weeks back in the day. He washed the dishes in the back and then he got sick for too long and was eventually fired. He was able to pay rent for a month though so it wasn't a complete waste of time.

He sits with his hands folded on the table and watches the other people in the diner. There aren't many which is understandable because it's barely six am. A heavy-set guy with an impressive beard sits on the other side of the diner, chewing down an omelet and sausages. He looks like a stereotypical truck driver but Steve didn't see any truck parked out front.

In a booth a few tables from the guy, there are three women laughing quietly about something to each other. Two are wearing fancy dresses that don't look quite modern while the third is in a suit, her blazer and the top couple buttons on her shirt unbuttoned. There's coffee in front of them as well as a tall pitcher of water and empty plates.

Other than them and the staff, the place is empty.

It's nice. Quiet.

Jessica comes walking over toward him no more than five minutes after he's sat down. She smiles at him when she comes over and Steve sits up a little straighter and smiles back, tugging his cap down a little further just in case. His beard is thicker now which helps obscure his face better but he can never be too sure, not even in a town as small as this.

“Sorry for the wait,” Jessica says and stops by his table. “What can I get you?”

“Uh,” Steve says intelligently and looks down at the menu. “What do you recommend?”

“Blueberry pancakes for sure,” Jessica says and points down at the menu. “The ham and Swiss omelet is really good too and so are the French toast and hash browns. Our breakfast burritos are delicious. Between you and me, I may have had one before my shift today. Maybe two.”

Steve smiles and chuckles quietly.

“Oh,” Jessica continues. “And I can't recommend the lemon supreme pie enough.”

“Sounds good,” Steve says and looks at her. “I'll have one of each.”

Jessica stares at him, her brows raised as she grabs the menu. “Wow,” she says. “That is... quite the appetite.”

Steve shrugs and says, “I'm a hungry man.”

“Obviously,” Jessica says with a chuckle. “Uh. Do you want anything to drink with that?”

“Some coffee and water would be nice.”

“Okay. Coming right up, sir.”

“Thank you.”

Steve watches her walk away then he pulls his phone out and types the town's name into Google to get an overlook of it. The town really is as small as it feels, according to Google. Barely four thousand people live here but it seems like a good place to live.

He stumbles upon an article about the restaurants in this town; one owned by two women who are happily married, another owned by an old Asian man whose restaurant must be popular because the article mentions it having a long waiting list, and a third is a steak house owned and run by an immigrant family.

He writes down the address for each restaurant in his notebook and makes a note to visit them when he can. He might as well start marking down good places to eat, after all. If this is where he's going to be living now, he's gonna need to know.

The first page on Google shows him a couple pharmacies, a few hotels none of which have a higher rating than three stars, an animal shelter, and various other stores that Steve quickly and messily writes down in his notebook to remember. He circles the bakery called _Barnes' Bakery_ after writing it down because homemade pastries sound amazing and his stomach rumbles at the thought.

“Here you go, sir.”

Steve looks up from his notebook. Jessica is by his table again, now with three plates balanced on her arms and a pitcher of water in her hand. He puts down the pen and reaches out to help her relocate them to the table instead. She puts the last one down along with the pitcher and a tall glass.

“Thank you,” he says, mouth already watering. “This looks amazing.”

“Tastes good too,” Jessica says with a smile.

Steve chuckles and says, “Yeah, I bet.”

“So,” Jessica says, hand on her hip. “New in town or just passing through?”

“New in town.”

“Oh, exciting.” Jessica's smile widens. “It's been ages since we've had anyone new.”

“Well,” Steve says and scratches his cheek. “I live just outside of town, so.”

“That's alright. As long as you shop 'round here, you're a part of town. And welcome, by the way.”

Steve smiles at her. “Thank you.”

“You settling in alright?”

“I only arrived last night. This is the first place I've been to.”

“That is quite the honor. I hope we set a good impression for the town.”

“So far so good.”

Jessica's shoulders shake with a quiet chuckle and she tugs a curly lock behind her ear. Her eyes drop downward and Steve almost instinctively reaches out to lock his phone and hide his notebook. He decides not to and merely smiles at her when she looks back at him only a second later.

“If you wanna continue the good impression,” she says, “I'd recommend going to Barnes' sometime.”

“The bakery?”

“Oh, you've heard of it?”

“Uh, no. I was, uh. Googling.”

“Smart. Barnes' is really good. Everything in there is like a little piece of heaven.”

“I'll make sure to check it out.”

“And the owner is amazing too.”

Steve smiles at her but says nothing.

Jessica smiles at his silence. “Enjoy your meal, sir,” she says and then walks away.

Steve stares after her for a moment, then he decides to move on. He puts his phone and notebook away and starts to eat his breakfast. While he eats, he turns to his right and looks out the window to watch the town wake up.

More people filter into the diner and occupy the tables and booths around him. No one pays him any attention but Steve still instinctively dips his chin and hides his face under the brim of his cap. He likes this place though. It's nice and cozy and he makes a mental note to come back sometime.

When the plates and pitcher are empty, Steve gets up from his seat and goes to pay for his meal. He makes sure to leave a decent tip for Jessica as well before he walks out the door and hops back into his pickup truck. He drives up and down streets around the town for a while before he spots what he's looking for.

 _Barnes' Bakery_ is tugged into the corner of a street, almost hidden away but there's a helpful sign on the sidewalk with an arrow pointing in the front door's direction. Steve parks further up the street and decides to follow the arrow inside.

He pushes the door open and is instantly welcomed by a wave of delicious smells before he's even stepped inside. There's a big open space between the door and the counter, a couple bar stools and a legless table attached to the window that faces out to the street. There's a register on the counter and next to it is a long display of baked goods.

Behind the display is a door that Steve guesses leads into the kitchen. It's currently being held open by a wooden chair and the faint smell of something sweet in the oven travels out from back there. Steve's mouth waters even though he had breakfast only twenty minutes ago.

Jessica wasn't lying when she said this was like a piece of heaven.

There's a man standing behind the counter. His dark brown hair is short on the sides and a bit longer at the top, soft curls falling down over his forehead in a deliberately messy way. His eyes are a startling shade of blue with a hint of gray and his pink lips are surrounded by a neatly kept stubble that runs along his strong jaw but doesn't hide the slight cleft in his chin.

He's a real looker and when he smiles, Steve tightens his grip on the door.

Steve hasn't always known he's bisexual. He thought that since he liked women, his attraction to men was nothing but artistic appreciation. That was what he told himself when he caught himself looking at other men a little too long because he never knew that liking both was a thing. Being gay was illegal back then and liking both was never really talked about anywhere.

It wasn't until the twenty-first century when he discovered the word and its meaning that he came to terms with it. That was years ago now and while he's only out to a select few, he's not ashamed of it. So when he looks at this man and feels his heart do a cartoon-y pound in his chest, he welcomes it and thinks _oh, hello_.

“Morning,” the man says. His voice is nice. “What can I get you?”

Steve steps further into the bakery and lets the door close behind him as his eyes travel down the length of the man's body. His shoulders are wide and fill out the white long-sleeved shirt he's wearing underneath the black apron that's tied around his neck and waist. There's a name tag pinned onto it but Steve can't read what it says.

Not wanting to get caught checking him out, Steve lowers his gaze to the display instead. The goods laid out look freshly made and his full stomach gives a low rumble in appreciation.

“I don't know,” he says and looks back up. “What do you recommend?”

“Well,” the man says and smiles. “Not to toot my own horn but everything's pretty good.”

Steve smiles back. “You made everything?” he asks, as if he doesn't already know.

“That's right,” the man says then gestures to himself. “Bucky Barnes, owner and head baker.”

“Impressive,” Steve says. “But I don't think that's gonna get me to buy everything.”

“Damn,” Bucky says and clicks his tongue. “Well, it was worth a shot.”

Steve laughs, a quiet chuckle that shakes his shoulders.

“What are you looking for?” Bucky says. “Bread, pastry... something tooth rotting, something less so?”

Steve hums in thought then he says, “How 'bout three loafs of your best bread. And maybe a pastry.”

Bucky nods and steps back. “Anything specific?”

“Surprise me.”

Bucky gives him a two-fingered salute with his right hand and turns around. He steps over and pulls out a pair of disposable gloves that he slips onto his hands. It's only then that Steve notices his left hand; it's a prosthetic, sleek and black in color. The fingers move stiffly but they don't make a sound.

Steve lets himself look for no more than a second before he tears his eyes away.

“You know,” Bucky says as he grabs a paper bag. “Word around town is that someone recently bought old Morgan's farm. That wouldn't happen to be you, would it?”

“That depends,” Steve says. “Is that the one in Norstable?”

“Sure is.”

“Then yes, that's me.”

Bucky smiles at him over his shoulder. “Well, welcome to town.”

“Thank you,” Steve says and returns the smile.

“And you take good care of that place,” Bucky says and grabs a loaf from the rack on the wall. “Old Morgan was a beloved man in this town.”

“Old Morgan?”

“Yeah. He died a few years ago and his... life partner finally decided to sell the property last year. It was just standing there and collecting dust anyway. And he's unfortunately too old to fix it himself.”

“Life partner,” Steve says. “Husband?”

“Nah,” Bucky says. “Mr. Morgan died before it became legal. But they were as close to married as they could get.”

“Ah,” Steve says. “Sorry to hear that.”

“Yeah, me too.”

Bucky doesn't continue so Steve decides not to pry further. Instead, he watches in silence as Bucky comes back to the counter and places the two bagged bread on the surface. He bags a third and then rests his hands on the counter with a smile on his lips.

“So,” Bucky says. “What brings a guy like you all the way out here in butt-fuck nowhere?”

Steve chuckles quietly. “Retirement,” he says.

“Retirement?” Bucky echoes, clearly surprised. “You don't look old enough for that.”

“I'm older than I look,” Steve says with a one-shouldered shrug.

Bucky pauses. His brows slowly lower and furrow above his eyes. He looks at Steve, _really_ looks at him, and Steve shifts uncomfortably under his gaze. He lowers his chin a little in an attempt to hide his face as subtly as he can. Not that he thinks it'll work.

But Bucky keeps his face straight and shows no sign of recognizing him. Then he smiles.

“Well, you look great,” he says.”What's your secret?”

Steve shrugs. “Cold water.”

Bucky laughs, as if he understood the joke.

There's an amused glint in his eye. Steve thinks he might've, actually.

“What's your name?” Bucky asks with a smile on his lips.

Steve considers lying but he says, “Steve,” anyway.

“Steve,” Bucky repeats without taking his eyes off him. “That will be fifteen dollars, Steve.”

“And what about my pastry?” Steve asks as he pulls his wallet out.

“Come by tomorrow,” Bucky says. “I'll make you something special. Consider it your welcome present.”

“You don't have to do that.”

“I know. I'm going to anyway.”

Steve hesitates and considers arguing but he doesn't. Instead, he smiles and pulls out the bills to pay. Bucky accepts the cash and hands over the bagged bread with a smile. Steve takes it, thanks him, and turns around to leave the bakery.

He tells himself not to but he looks back at Bucky before he steps out.

Bucky raises his hand in a wave and smiles at him, and Steve tries to ignore the heat in his cheeks.  
  


✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰  
  


Steve buys a mattress on the way back to the farm. He gets a king sized mattress that isn't too soft but still soft enough to give a comfortable dip when he pushes down on it. He doesn't buy a frame to go along with it because he doesn't give himself the time to look. He only gets the mattress and loads it onto the bed of his pickup truck.

He stops by a grocery store on the way out of town and buys three bags filled with supplies; food and fluids and various snacks so he has something in the fridge and cabinet that stand empty back in the house. The fridge isn't that big and with his appetite, he knows he'll have to replace it.

That's for another time.

Steve parks the pickup truck when he reaches the farm and shuts off the engine. He leans back in the seat with a quiet inhale and looks at the farmhouse looming in front of him. Behind and around it, the grass stands tall and sways in the wind.

This place looks abandoned and it is. He's been here for less than a day, of course it does. There is so much to take care of and fix and repair and rebuild and it's no less overwhelming now than it was earlier. He wants to turn the truck around and drive away.

He takes his phone out and dials the only number he has memorized instead.

“Hey, man,” Sam greets him in his ear.

“Did I make a mistake?” Steve asks in lieu of greeting.

Sam is quiet on the other end. “Where are you right now?” he asks after a couple seconds.

“In my pickup,” Steve says. “Parked in front of the house.”

“Thinking about leaving?”

“Maybe. I don't know.”

“Alright. Talk to me, Steve. What's going on in your head?”

“It,” Steve starts, then sighs. “It's a lot.”

“I know. Clint showed us pictures. That's a hell of a project you've taken on.”

Steve exhales in a huff. “Yeah,” he says. “The hell was I thinking. I don't know how to do this.”

“Congratulations,” Sam says, a smile in his voice. “Most of us don't know what we're doing half the time. You fit right in.”

“Thanks,” Steve says dryly and then he laughs when Sam chuckles in his ear.

“Seriously though,” Sam says once the laughter dies down. “You've been there for less than a day. You haven't even given it a shot yet. Besides, you're retired. If this doesn't work out, you've got all the time in the world to try something else.”

Steve sighs quiet. “I guess you're right,” he says. “I just... I miss you guys.”

“We miss you too,” Sam says. “Natasha made a Steve out of pillows.”

“I did not!” Steve hears Natasha yell in the background and he laughs.

“Maybe I should make a Natasha pillow then,” he says.

“Oh, please don't,” Sam says with a chuckle. “That's too sad, man.”

“Well, what else am I supposed to do? I don't have any pictures of you guys.”

Sam is quiet for a beat then he says, “I think I just figured out my housewarming present for you.”

“You don't have to get me anything.”

“Shut up and let your friends do something nice for you.”

“Fine. But don't feel obliged.”

“What did I _just_ tell you?” Sam asks him, exasperated.

Steve ducks his chin and laughs.

Sam laughs with him, chuckling in his ear.

After, they sit there quietly for a minute. Steve looks out at the farmhouse in front of him, looks at the tall grass dancing around it. He swallows thickly.

“What if I fail?” he asks quietly, then.

“Then you fail,” Sam says, “and you come back home to us.”

“I thought you were gonna give my spot to Sharon.”

“We are but there's still the bonus spot.”

“In the backseat?”

“In the backseat.”

Steve smiles and exhales sharply through his nose.

He's no stranger to failures. Most of his life has been about failures and getting back on his feet every time because his mother made sure he never stayed down, no matter what. But this is different. This is the start of his life, something he never thought he would get the chance to have.

Failure is inevitable, he knows this. But he wants to succeed so bad.

It's nice to know he has a safety net though. A family to return to if it falls apart.

“Thank you,” Steve says after a moment, “for being there.”

“Always,” Sam says. “And I can't wait to see how your farms ends up looking.”

“If I stick to it, that is.”

“Give it a month. I bet you won't wanna do anything else by then.”

Steve sighs, a quiet exhale. “I hope you're right, Sam.”  
  


✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰  
  


The farm is still overwhelming so Steve decides to make a list.

He writes it down in his notebook and lists everything he can think of to get done. Seeing it on paper still doesn't make it any less overwhelming but seeing it written down like this makes it feel a little more manageable and doable and not the impossible task he was willing to deem it before.

This makes it easier.

He starts by unloading the mattress from the pickup bed. It's compressed into a box which makes it easy to carry inside and into the master bedroom. He tears the box open and pulls the mattress out. While it puffs up and starts to settle into the shape it's supposed to be, he arranges it in the corner of the room. It doesn't have a frame but this beats sleeping on the floor at least.

The bedroom looks almost depressing like this; with nothing but a mattress tugged into the corner and a bag carelessly kicked into the other. But this is only the beginning, he has to remind himself of that. More will come eventually.

Mattress crossed off the list, Steve brings in the groceries next. The kitchen looks a little less abandoned after he's unpacked everything and a little more like someone actually lives here after he's made himself something to eat and put the dishes in the sink.

He tackles the porch next. He finds a broom with a hard brush in the closet by the side-door and spends a couple hours sweeping the porch. It's dirty and could probably use a thorough wash too but he settles for getting rid of the dead leaves and weed that are scattered around and sticking to it, almost hiding the wood underneath.

When it's done and crossed off the list, he looks out over the tall grass. He doesn't know where the hell to start with that. Hell, he doesn't even know if there's a lawn mower anywhere on the property. So he starts there and goes on a search for a mower or a scythe or anything to get rid of this overwhelming grass.

He finds a lawn tractor in the barn, parked behind the row of dirty stables. It's old and dusted and when he tries to turn it on, the engine makes a sad noise before dying out. He sighs and hangs his head, ready to either give up or punch a hole through the tractor.

He does neither.

He spends an hour sitting on the floor with his back leaned against the tractor's wheel and his phone in hand, searching for instructions for how to fix this damn thing. Eventually, he finds something useful. He rolls up his sleeves, grabs the toolbox that's sitting on a low stool nearby, and follows the instructions.

Steve doesn't know anything about vehicles and has never done anything like this before. So when he twists something and the engine suddenly sputters to life and stays on, he raises his hands into the air in surprise. He stares at it for a long and confused moment before he lets himself shout in victory.

He has no idea what he did but whatever. It worked.

Cutting the grass takes hours but he finds that he doesn't actually mind doing it. It's almost therapeutic to drive this thing through the long grass and then look behind himself and see it so much shorter and nicer. The long grass lays messily on the ground which isn't the prettiest sight but he'll get to that.

And the smell of freshly cut grass...

Steve used to be allergic to grass and the volatile it releases when it's cut. To be able to smell it now and not have a hard time breathing is refreshing and he relishes in it. He tips his head back a little, closes his eyes, and takes in a deep breath. He smiles when his lungs still work fine afterward.

By the time he's done and the property looks less swallowed up by grass, the sun is starting to set and dark is starting to fall. He drives the tractor back into the barn and parks it in front of the stables instead of in the back where he found it. He tries to close the barn doors on his way out but when it doesn't budge, he decides to just leave it. Better not break it more.

He takes a shower back at the house. He washes off the sweat and dirt and gets into something more comfortable before he walks into the kitchen to make himself some dinner.

Steve can't cook. Or rather, he's still learning. What he knows to make is very limited and mostly involves a microwave, though he does plan on teaching himself how to make proper meals. He's gonna have to, now that he lives alone and can't always rely on microwavable food. He could but he doesn't want to.

But he's starving after an active day so he decides not to attempt anything and makes himself a sandwich instead. He grabs one of the loafs from the bakery and cuts off two pieces, then he assembles the sandwich with lettuce, tomato, and whatever else he can get in. He makes himself two because he knows his own appetite and knows one won't be enough.

There's no furniture in the kitchen so he sits down on the floor and leans against the wall. It's not the most comfortable but the second he bites into the sandwich and gets a taste of the bread, he forgets all about it.

It's like a slice of heaven on his tongue and he finishes the first sandwich within minutes.

Oh, he is absolutely coming back. Several times.  
  


✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰  
  


Steve steps into _Barnes' Bakery_ around noon the next day. Unlike yesterday, the place isn't empty. There are customers waiting in line and none of them seem to be impatient, which is surprising for someone like him who's used to busy city people always being impatient even though there are lines everywhere.

This is refreshing.

The person at the register is a young woman in her early twenties. Her hair is a stunning shade of black and is put up into two buns that sit neatly on the top of her head. Her lips are stretched into a toothy and friendly smile that immediately makes him want to smile back even though it's not directed at him.

Steve moves to step in line but he pauses when he sees Bucky step into view from behind the display. Bucky smiles at him and beckons him over. Steve hesitates for a brief moment before he ducks out of line and walks over to the side, away from the line.

“Hey,” Bucky says when he comes to a stop on the other side. “You came back.”

“You promised me a pastry,” Steve says. “Of course I came back.”

“That's a good point,” Bucky says and smiles. “I just wasn't expecting it.”

“Why not?”

Bucky shrugs. “One can never know,” he says cryptically.

Steve gives him a questioning look but Bucky doesn't elaborate. Bucky merely smiles at him and then he turns toward the woman at the register. She's just handed off a box to a customer and is telling them to have a good day.

“Anisa,” Bucky says. “You good on your own for a bit?”

The woman — Anisa, apparently — looks over at him. She briefly glances at Steve and stares at him for maybe a second too long before she smiles and looks back at Bucky.

“Yeah,” she says then. “I've got this, boss.”

With a smile, Bucky looks at Steve and pushes the gate between the wall and the display open. It's a silent invitation and Steve only hesitates for a moment before he accepts it and steps through.

“Come with me,” Bucky says and starts heading to the door leading into the back.

Steve follows him, heart pounding in his chest.

There's a small room behind the door with lockers and a coat hanger and two other doors, one closed and the other open. Bucky leads him through the open one and behind that is the kitchen. It's big and spacious with ovens and a large fridge with two doors and a large pantry next to it. There's a row of steel tables lined up along the back of the room, one of which has tools laid out on it.

It's a huge mess too; there's flour everywhere and several dirty tools lay about every which way.

“Sorry about the mess,” Bucky says when they step inside. “It's been a busy day.”

“It's okay,” Steve says. “I'd be worried if it was sparkling clean.”

Bucky sighs and says, “I'd be happy if it was sparkling clean.”

Steve chuckles quietly and comes to a stop in the middle of the kitchen.

Bucky walks further inside and over to one of the tables. His back is turned to him and Steve doesn't stop his eyes from wandering downward, traveling down Bucky's backside until they find his ass and settle there.

Steve bites his lip and quickly looks back up a second before Bucky turns around.

Bucky has a fork in his right hand and a plate balanced on his left. On the plate is a piece of cake. It has a nice light brown shade in the middle while the top is slightly darker. It looks soft and delicious and Steve can feel his mouth watering the moment he lays eyes on it.

“Here we are,” Bucky says and hands both over to Steve.

Steve stares at the offered items, then he looks up at Bucky and raises a brow.

“You want me to eat it right now?” he asks

“Yep,” Bucky says and smiles. “I haven't baked this in ages. I wanna know what you think.”

“Uh. Okay.”

Steve takes the plate and fork from Bucky. With his hands now empty, Bucky tugs them behind his back and smiles at Steve. Steve smiles back, albeit awkwardly, and huffs quietly before he sticks the fork into the cake and break off a bite. He guides it into his mouth and bites down.

Suddenly he's back in 1933 and his mom has just brought home overripe bananas that she would get on discount from the local grocer. She would make banana cake with them and sell some to the other residents in the building to help get some extra money for rent and food but she would always save one for the two of them to share.

It tastes a little different because bananas aren't the same anymore but the taste...

The taste of it fills him with warmth and he can't help the quiet moan that escapes him as he swallows the bite. He doesn't hesitate to break off another bite, this time bigger than the one before.

“Is this banana cake?” he asks and shoves the bite into his mouth.

“It is,” Bucky says. “Common in the 30s.”

Steve pauses with the fork still in his mouth.

Bucky is looking at him, a small smile on his lips.

He doesn't have to say anything. Steve can already tell he knows.

“Your secret's safe with me, Captain,” Bucky says.

Steve lowers the fork. “That's not me anymore,” he says.

“Okay,” Bucky says and nods. “Steve, then.”

Steve looks at him in silence for a moment. “You're not gonna tell anyone. Are you?”

“And lose a potential regular? Not a chance.”

Steve smiles a little and sticks the fork into the cake again. He breaks off another piece and stuffs it into his mouth. Bucky watches him do it, his smile slowly widening little by little the longer their eyes stay locked.

Eye contact is awkward. But not now.

“How'd you find out?” Steve asks after he swallows. “I thought my disguise was good.”

Bucky's brows jump up his forehead. “You have a beard and let your hair grow out,” he says. “Not much of a disguise, pal.”

“I have this too,” Steve says and points to the cap on his head.

“Still a shit disguise.”

Steve scoffs, mildly offended.

“It's good for the passing eye,” Bucky says. “I'll give you that. But not for the people looking.”

“So you were looking, huh?”

Bucky stares at him. When he licks his lips, Steve's eyes drop down without thought.

“I might've been,” Bucky admits with a shrug.

Steve lifts his gaze to Bucky's eyes again, his cheeks warming.

“Also your nose is easy to recognize.”

Steve smiles, amused. “My nose?”

“It's crooked, Steve. The serum didn't fix that. I've seen the pictures.”

Steve harrumphs but he can't sop himself from laughing too.

Bucky laughs with him, a soft chuckle that shakes his shoulders.

“Don't feel too bad,” Bucky says. “I'd probably recognize you anywhere, no matter the disguise.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. You've got a nice face, it's hard to ignore or miss.”

Steve stares at him for a second, then he dips his chin in an attempt to hide the blush that warms his cheeks.

People have told him he's easily recognizable before but not because of his face. It's always his body, always the wide shoulders and the narrow hips that the serum granted him with in replacement of his previous slim and small frame.

It's never his face, the one thing that barely changed.

“Well,” Steve says and looks back at him. “Hope you're the only one who thinks so.”

“Oh, I doubt it,” Bucky says. “You're hot, Steve. People are gonna look.”

Steve makes a face and busies himself with taking another bite of cake.

He's still a fugitive and he doesn't want his past life to come back and ruin the retired one that hasn't even started yet. He hasn't gotten to enjoy it and if someone rats him out to the government, he won't get to either.

He wants to not have to constantly have to look over his shoulder but he's done trying to work things out with the government. Natasha has told him that she and the others plan to get something done so they don't have to be in hiding anymore but that was a long time ago and the plan has only been talked about.

Steve wants to live life and not fight more battles. He retired for a reason.

He's tired.

“Hey.”

Steve looks up when Bucky speaks in a gentle voice. He hadn't even realized he was frowning down at the plate in his hand, quietly stabbing at it without breaking off a bite. It can't have been more than a few seconds but Bucky seems to have noticed and read his mind anyway.

Bucky puts his hand on Steve's shoulder and Steve holds his breath.

“This is a small town,” Bucky says. “We're a community. People don't care who you are. And if someone else does recognize you, they're not gonna say anything to anyone. I guarantee it.”

Steve looks at him. “And if you're wrong?”

“If I'm wrong, you can get free cakes for the rest of your life.”

“Careful,” Steve says and smiles. “I'm already a hundred years old. I'm gonna live a while.”

Bucky scoffs and takes his hand off Steve's shoulder. Steve immediately misses the weight of it.

“Shut up, you punk,” Bucky says. “It won't matter anyway. No one's gonna rat you out.”

“How do you know?”

“I won't allow it.”

“You better not get in trouble for me, Bucky Barnes.

“As if you'd let that happen.”

“How would you know? You don't know me.”

“I know enough.”

“Seems like you have an unfair advantage then.”

“Seems like you're just gonna have to get to know me to even the playing field.”

Steve smiles at him. “Seems like it, yeah.”

Bucky returns the smiles but doesn't say anything so neither does Steve. Instead, he sticks the fork into the last bit of cake and guides it into his mouth. Before he's even swallowed it, Bucky reaches out to grab the plate and fork from him and merely chuckles at Steve's grunted protest.

“You're not gonna eat the crumbs, Steve,” Bucky says.

“I might've,” Steve says around his mouth.

Bucky hums and gives him a doubtful look. “So,” he says. “How was it?”

Steve swallows and says, “Good. I'd almost say it's as good as my ma's was.”

“Almost?”

“Almost. I love my ma, Bucky. She's hard to beat.”

“Well, almost as good as your ma's is high praise and I will take it. Thank you.”

“And thank _you_ for the cake.”

“Anytime,” Bucky says and steps over toward the sink. “Do you want the rest of it?”

Steve quirks a brow. “You're not gonna sell it?”

“Of course not,” Bucky says and looks at him with a smile. “I made it for you.”

Bucky turns back around as he puts the plate and fork into the sink. Steve embraces the lack of attention on him to smile privately to himself, his heart doing a flip in his chest at the thought of Bucky making something specifically for him and no one else.

Okay. So maybe he has a bit of a crush.

Big deal, he's allowed.

Bucky turns back around but doesn't come over. He stays there, a hand on his hip while the other rests on the edge of the counter. There's an easy smile on his lips and Steve returns it.

“At least let me pay for it,” Steve says.

“Nope.”

“Bucky—”

“You can pay for it by coming back here whenever you're in town.”

Steve doesn't have to think about his answer. “You got yourself a deal.”  
  


✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰  
  


Bucky packs the rest of the banana cake into a box with the bakery's logo printed on the lid. As promised, Steve doesn't pay for it but he does end up buying another loaf of bread that he does pay for. Bucky narrows his eyes at him when he does and Steve smiles back innocently.

On the way back to the farm, Steve stops by a store to buy buckets of paint along with the biggest brush he can find. The barn needs a repaint and since he's already here, he may as well. He gets some new tools too and others that he knows he'll need to fix up the place.

He doesn't start working when he gets back, not right away. Instead, he carries everything inside and sits down on the steps on the porch with the box from Bucky in his lap and a plastic fork in his hand.

He eats the whole thing with a smile on his lips and a flutter in his heart.

Not that anyone needs to know that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> rebloggable post on [tumblr](https://mlmsrogers.tumblr.com/post/184899187973).
> 
> kudos and comments give me life!


	3. Chapter 3

A couple weeks pass by in a blur.

Steve crosses more things off on his list, including the barn. It feels the least overwhelming even though there is so much to do with it. There are the stables that he briefly considers tearing down but he decides not to. He doesn't think they will ever be used, not with him, but it doesn't feel right to get rid of them either so he doesn't.

He starts with cleaning the place; he removes the old hay in each stable, sweeps the floor, and dusts off each corner to get rid of the cobwebs. Anything he stumbles across that he doesn't think he'll ever need gets tossed into a pile in the middle of the barn. He plans on tracking down the previous owner's husband. Maybe he still wants some of it.

It takes him a while to get the place cleaned up but once it is, it already looks a lot better and a lot less overwhelming. At the end of the fourth cleaning day, he gives the lawn tractor a thorough cleaning and a check-up before he stores it in the back where he found it.

Despite the cleaning, it still looks old but that's fine. It works. Most of the time.

The barn doors get replaced when he realizes the old ones are useless and beyond repair. It takes him the better part of a day to do but once it's done and the doors close smoothly, he feels pleased and proud of himself. It may not be the perfect fix— he's no handyman, is figuring all this out as he goes— but it's a fix nonetheless.

With that crossed off, he repaints the outside of it and ends up with paint splattered onto a pair of jeans and a shirt, both that he then dedicates to painting from there on out. It reminds him of when he was younger and still did art, always carrying paint somewhere on his clothes.

The barn is a much bigger canvas than he ever had before and he's not painting a picture but it gives him that same calming feeling.

He doesn't do art anymore, hasn't in years. Although maybe he could.

Maybe.

When he needs a break or when he can't resist the urge any longer, Steve goes into town to see Bucky. He always comes up with an excuse even though he knows no one will ask or care. But he needs to justify it himself, maybe. In the years since embracing his bisexuality, he hasn't actually had feelings for a man before. He's been with one or two, sure, but having this _want_ to know a man and be with him? It's uncharted territory for him.

Bucky is always happy to see him when he stops by. He's usually in the kitchen, elbow deep in dough and covered in flour and his hair a constant mess which somehow only makes him more beautiful, but Steve befriends his employees and gets them to let him through. It beats having to sneak around.

Anisa lets him through right from the get-go but Samuel is a little more hesitant at first. He's young, very early twenties even though his voice often cracks like a teenager's, and his dark hair is kept buzzed neatly short. He's a quiet guy and doesn't talk much but he smiles all the time. It takes Bucky saying good for Steve before Samuel starts to warm up to him.

Cerys, with her blonde hair and brown eyes that turn near golden in the sunlight, accepts him instantly which is a bit of a shock. She takes one look at him, smiles, and tells him Bucky is in the back the first time Steve meets her. When he meets Marcel, a black man in his thirties who gives him the same treatment, Steve starts to get suspicious.

He asks Bucky about it one day.

“Did you give your employees a picture of me?”

Bucky looks up from here he's kneading a big ball of dough, his bicep flexing and his hands covered with flour-stained gloves. There's a furrow between his brows and his lips are pulled into a smile but the look in his eyes is confused though still amused.

“Uh, no?” Bucky says almost questioningly.

“Then how come they let me back here so easily?”

“Maybe that's just your natural charm.”

Steve gives him a deadpan look.

Bucky stares back for half a second before he sighs and cracks.

“I didn't give them a picture,” he says. “I told them if a handsome, bearded guy wearing a cap came into the bakery, they are to let him get out back to me.”

Steve hums quietly, arms crossed over his chest. He watches Bucky work in silence for a minute. There's something so calming about it, watching him knead and work the dough and make something Steve knows will be delicious.

Not to mention it's hot, watching his arm and back muscles flex with the effort he puts into it.

“I think Marcel recognizes me,” Steve says.

“He does,” Bucky says with a chuckle. “All of them know who you are, Steve.”

“And they don't care?”

“They don't care.”

Steve pauses, chews on it. “Huh,” he says quietly.

“Do you _want_ them to care?” Bucky asks.

“No,” Steve says and smiles. “No, it's nice that they don't care.”

And it is.

It's nice not being Captain America or one of the Nomads or whatever else the public eye has named him over the years. It's nice not being any of that and getting to just be Steve. It makes him feel at peace, like a weight has been lifted off his shoulders.

Retiring was the right decision, it seems like.  
  


✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰  
  


On a late Saturday afternoon, Steve is repairing one of the light poles near the front of the property when he sees a car approaching down the road leading up to the house. He doesn't recognize it and that instantly makes him alert so he steps down from the ladder and walks over to meet the visitor, not taking his eyes off the car for a second.

However, when the car comes closer and the driver comes into view, Steve drops his guards in an exhale and a toothy smile grows onto his face. Behind the wheel, Bucky smiles back and raises a hand in a silent greeting as he rolls to a stop and parks.

“Hey,” Bucky says out the open window. “I'm looking for this retired fella. Supposed to live out here somewhere. You wouldn't happen to know him, would you?”

Steve quirks a brow, his smile settling crookedly on his face. He steps over to the car and bends down to rest an arm on the car's rolled down window. He looks inside at Bucky who grins widely back at him.

“Sorry,” Steve say. “I'm pretty sure he left the country a while ago.”

“Damn,” Bucky says. “That's a shame.”

“What do you want with him anyway?” Steve asks. “Retired men sound a little too old for you.”

“I like my men older,” Bucky says and winks at him.

Steve feels his cheeks warm with a blush but he laughs anyway.

“And I was gonna give him a proper welcome,” Bucky says and gestures to the passenger seat.

Steve's eyes follow the gesture.

On the seat is a plate with at least thirty cookies piled on. There's a variety of them too; chocolate chip, oatmeal cookies, snickerdoodle, and others that Steve doesn't recognize but immediately wants to stuff himself with.

He swallows, mouth watering.

“You know what,” he says. “I think your retired guy just came home.”

Bucky snickers and says, “Uh huh, that's what I thought.”

Steve invites him inside. He hesitates at the front door for a moment but then he smiles at Bucky and opens the door. He hasn't done much with the house yet. Not much meaning barely anything. He's cleaned it and gotten some furniture like a dinner table and chairs and a frame for his mattress but that's it.

It's still so bare and empty.

Bucky whistles when he steps inside and starts walking around. Steve watches him look around the bare space on the walls and the floor and the lack of... personality and he tries not to feel ashamed about it. He's only had it for a few weeks and he's in no rush, he tells himself.

Not that it makes him any less embarrassed.

“Wow,” Bucky says and finally turns to look at him. “No furniture?”

“I have a table,” Steve says. “And chairs.”

“Impressive,” Bucky deadpans. “You sleep on any of those?”

“I have a bed too.”

“Wow. Living it up out here in Norstable.”

Steve laughs and says, “Shut up. I haven't gotten to the house yet.”

“Yeah?” Bucky smiles, curious now rather than teasing. “What have you been working on so far?”

“The barn,” Steve says with a shrug. “Cut the grass. I haven't done that much yet.”

“Pal, you're doing this single-handedly. Any progress is a win on its own.”

Steve looks at him for a second then he dips his chin and smiles down at his shoes.

“Anyway,” Bucky says. “You wanna try some cookies?”

Steve takes him to the kitchen and they sit down by the table.

It's not a particularly big table but he made sure to pick one that could fit four or more chairs around it, even if it might be a squeeze. This one fits six but he has only bought four chairs so far. Both the table and the chairs are made out of a dark wood, sturdy and new. The chairs have a soft cushion stabled on but no armrests.

Bucky shifts a little in his seat when he sits down, cookies placed onto the table. Steve watches him, leaned back in his own seat, and he smiles when Bucky finally settles and looks back at him across the table.

“Comfortable?” Steve asks.

Bucky smiles and says, “Very. Good choice.”

“Thank you. They were the cheapest.”

Bucky laughs and shakes his head. He's still smiling as he peels off the plastic wrap that lays over the cookies and pushes the plate toward Steve, curling the wrap into a ball in his hand. He lifts his eyes to meet Steve's, the smile softening on his lips.

“Bon appétit,” he says.

Steve doesn't hesitate to reach out and pick a chocolate chip cookie up between his fingers. It comes as no surprise that the cookie is delicious when he bites into it and he lets out a pleased but quiet hum as he chews, the chocolate melting on his tongue.

He looks at Bucky and is about to compliment him on his baking but the words die on his tongue when he sees Bucky just sitting there, watching him with a little smile on his lips. Steve smiles back, a furrow between his brows.

“You're not having some?” he asks.

“Nah,” Bucky says. “I made them for you.”

Steve narrows his eyes, his smile turning playful. “Did you poison them?”

Bucky guffaws and kicks him under the table. “No! Shut up,” he says in a laugh.

“What?” Steve can't help but laugh with him. “If you didn't poison them, why won't you eat one?”

“Because they're yours, dumbass.”

“Well, maybe I want to share them with you.”

“You don't want them all?”

“I do but my ma raised me better than that. Don't make me sit here and eat alone, Bucky.”

“Alright, fine. I'll have one.”

Bucky does have one and then he has another when Steve reaches for his third. They manage to get through about half the cookie before Bucky leans back with his hands up in surrender and a smile on his lips. Steve lets himself have one last one before he decides to stop too.

“I should get going,” Bucky says then. “I just came by to drop those off.”

“Or you could stay,” Steve says. “If you want. You could stay. For dinner, maybe?”

Bucky pauses, hands on the table and mid-motion to stand. He stares at him from across the table and blinks a couple times, then he settles back down in his seat. His shoulders drops and his hands slide off the table again.

“You want me to stay?” he asks.

“Yeah,” Steve says with a shrug, his cheeks warm. “Would be nice with some company.”

Bucky smiles at him, small but soft.

“Okay,” he says. “Okay, I'll stay.”  
  


✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰  
  


Bucky helps him make dinner. It's been a few weeks and Steve has been trying to cook actual meals by now. He's burned more things than he's made something successfully but he has started to pick up on things bit by bit. And while he tries to make Bucky sit down and be a guest, having someone who knows what they're doing to help him, even unintentionally, makes it a little less nerve wracking.

They make grilled chicken. Steve found the recipe online and memorized it when Bucky wasn't looking because he doesn't want him to know that he's practically useless in the kitchen still. He wants to impress him, wants him to show that he can do things. But he has a feeling Bucky knows his very limited cooking skills anyway because he keeps looking at him with this smile on his lips.

He doesn't make a single comment about it though.

They talk while they cook and the conversation flows so easy between them. Steve is amazed and can't ignore the way it makes his heart do funny flips in his chest. Every time he stands close enough to Bucky to get a whiff of his cologne, he almost forgets to breathe.

He hasn't cooked with anyone since he occasionally helped his ma in the kitchen. Neither Sam nor Natasha let him help out with dinner which is understandable considering he burned their meal the one and only time he did. He hasn't cooked with anyone in so long and has never cooked with someone he's interested in, not like he is with Bucky.

It's... certainly an experience.

When the dinner is cooked and the table is set, they sit down and eat.

“Tell me about yourself,” Steve says a while into it.

“What do you want to know?” Bucky asks around his mouthful.

“Anything you want me to know,” Steve says. “You know a lot about me already. Time to level the playing field.”

“To be fair, most of what I know about you is probably not accurate.”

“You still know more about me than I do about you.”

“Okay. How 'bout we play twenty questions then?”

“Sounds fair.”

“Alright. You go first.”

Steve leans back in his seat and thinks for a moment, then he asks, “When's your birthday?”

“March tenth,” Bucky says. “Is yours really July fourth?”

“Unfortunately,” Steve says with a huff, “yes.”

“Damn. I'm kinda jealous.”

Steve quirks a brow. “Why the hell would you be jealous?”

“Because you get fireworks every year,” Bucky says, like it's obvious.

“Yeah. And my birthday gets turned into a joke.”

Steve doesn't look up when he says it. He stabs his fork into a couple vegetables and guides them into his mouth and keeps his eyes downcast for a moment after so he misses the frown on Bucky's face.

When he looks back up, Bucky is smiling again.

“Well,” Bucky says. “Next year, I'll make sure you get celebrated properly.”

Steve shakes his head and says, “You don't have to.”

“I don't _have_ to do anything. Doesn't mean I don't want to.”

“I don't wanna trouble you—”

“Steve,” Bucky interrupts. “When are you gonna let people do things for you?”

Steve pauses for a beat. “Is that one of your questions?”

“Sure. It is now.”

“It's not your turn,” Steve says and smiles.

Bucky scoffs and rolls his eyes but there's a smile on his lips.

“Fine,” he says. “Ask your stupid question then, Steve.”

“You got any siblings?” Steve asks after a beat.

“Yep,” Bucky says. “Three sisters.”

Steve's brows jump up. “Wow,” he says.

“I know,” Bucky says. “We were quite the handful growing up.”

“I can imagine. You the oldest?”

Bucky hums with a nod.

“Big brother Bucky,” Steve says and smiles. “That's cute.”

“What about you?” Bucky asks. “Any siblings?”

Steve gives him a look. “Don't pretend like you don't already know,” he says.

“Maybe I want to hear it from you.”

“I'm an only child. Just me and my ma after my dad passed.”

“I'm sorry.”

“It's alright. Wasn't so bad.”

“Did you have friends, at least?”

Steve smiles at him and says, “Not your turn.”

Bucky gives him a deadpan look. “You are such a little shit,” he tells him.

Steve shrugs, his smile growing wide. “I did have friends,” he says. “Well, one. His name was Arnie. He would patch me up after I'd gotten in a fight with the neighborhood bullies. Called me an idiot a lot but he was my best friend.”

“What happened to him?” Bucky asks quietly.

“He died while I was in the ice,” Steve says. “Cancer.”

“I'm so sorry, Steve.”

“It's alright. It was a tough time for someone like him. At least he made it past the war.”

“Someone like him?”

Steve hums. “He was gay.”

“He was gay?” Bucky repeats in a question, brows raised.

“Out and proud too,” Steve says with a nod.

“Wow,” Bucky says. “That's one thing the history books left out.”

“That's not surprising.”

“No but it would've been nice to know. I think it could've helped a lot of young people to know that Captain America's childhood best friend was gay. Me included.”

Steve looks at him and lifts a brow in a silent question.

“I'm gay,” Bucky says after a beat. “In case you hadn't already pieced that together.”

“I... had a feeling,” Steve says and smiles at him. “Thank you for telling me anyway.”

“You're welcome,” Bucky says after releasing a breath. “Thank you for not being a dick about it.”

“Why would I? Nothing wrong with it.”

“Yeah, well,” Bucky says with a shrug.

Steve hesitates for a minute but he quickly makes up his mind. He clears his throat, shifts in his seat, and looks down at his plate. His heart beats rapidly in his chest even before he opens his mouth.

“Besides,” he starts. “I'm, uh. I'm bisexual, so.”

Bucky is quiet across the table. When Steve looks at him after a moment, he sees him staring back.

Steve swallows thickly but holds his gaze.

“Am I the first person you come out to?” Bucky asks.

“No,” Steve says.

Bucky lets out a breath and nods.

“You're the fourth.”

“That is,” Bucky lets out an airy chuckle, “quite the honor.”

“Don't let it get to your head,” Steve says and smiles at him.

“Oh, it already has.”

Bucky laughs and Steve laughs with him.

They eat in silence for a while. Steve can't take his eyes off Bucky during this time, especially not when he notices the slight pink color dusting over his cheekbones. The color gets darker bit by bit the longer he looks too.

Bucky meets his eyes for a brief second before he looks back down with a nearly bashful smile.

Steve's heart gallops in his chest.

“Anyway,” Bucky says then. “It's your turn.”

Steve takes in a breath and asks, “What's your favorite childhood memory?”

Bucky smiles at him and tells him a story about a summer with his sisters that makes Steve throws his head back and laugh before he's even finished. Steve has always been an only child and has only known what having siblings is like hearing about it from other people. Based on Bucky's story, he guesses it's as nice as it is a pain.

It makes Steve think about Sam and Natasha.  
  


✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰  
  


When the food has been eaten and the dishes are washed and put away, Bucky announces that he should get going before it gets too dark. Steve doesn't argue this time and leads him to his car instead, flipping on the lights around the property before they step out the front door.

When they get to the car, Bucky stops and turns around to face him. Steve stops too, a couple steps from him to keep an appropriate distance between them. He stuffs his hands in his pockets and smiles at him.

“Do you have a phone?” Bucky asks him.

“I do,” Steve says.

“Can I see it?” Bucky holds out his right hand.

Steve gives him a puzzled look but he digs his phone out and hands it to him anyway.

Bucky thumbs around for a couple seconds then he types something much faster than Steve has ever typed anything. He probably has a lot more practice, having grown up when phones became more and more a thing.

Steve has had a smartphone for barely a decade and doesn't use it as much.

“There,” Bucky says and hands the phone back. “Now you've got my number.”

Steve takes the phone back, a smile growing wider on his lips.

“I went ahead and send myself a message,” Bucky continues, “so I've got yours too.”

Steve's smiles turns soft. “Thank you,” he says.

“Thank _you_ ,” Bucky says, “for letting me stay for dinner.”

“Anytime,” Steve says and means it.

Bucky smiles at him, then he gets in his car and turns on the engine.

“By the way,” he says through the rolled down window. “Just because you have my number now doesn't mean I don't still expect you to come by the bakery whenever you're in town.”

Steve chuckles and says, “I couldn't stay away even if I tried.”

“That's what I like to hear,” Bucky says with a toothy smile.

He drives off not long after that. Steve watches him go, hands in his pockets and a smile resting on his lips. And if he stays there a while after Bucky's car has disappeared from sight, then that's for only him to know.  
  


✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰  
  


Steve eats another couple cookies before he goes to bed that night.

He decides that he could eat himself a soft belly in them if his fast metabolism would allow it.

He thinks maybe, just maybe, he'll try anyway.  
  


✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰  
  


When Steve wakes up the next morning, there's a text waiting for him. It's from Bucky and when he taps on it to open it, there's an unloaded picture and a caption below that wishes him a good morning followed by a string of emojis. He taps the picture and rolls onto his back while the picture loads, comforter pushed down to his stomach and a smile already on his lips.

The picture is of Bucky, standing in the bakery's kitchen with his curly hair a tussled mess atop his head and what looks like batter wiped across one of his cheeks. It cuts off by his chest but Steve can still see the flour-covered apron and the red sweater underneath. Bucky is smiling tiredly at him, giving him a thumbs up with his prosthetic hand.

Seeing him gives Steve a swoop in his stomach, one that feels familiar but one that he hasn't had in a very, very long time. Not since Peggy and yet it's so different at the same time; the same kind of intense attraction but different in ways that he doesn't know how to explain.

Steve looks at the picture for longer than he should. Then he open his camera and takes a picture of himself as he is; in bed with bed hair, eyes squinting in the morning light, and the sun beaming in through the slit in the closed curtains. He sends it to Bucky and wishes him a good morning back.

Then he gets out of bed and gets on with the day. He doesn't stop smiling for hours.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> rebloggable post on [tumblr](https://mlmsrogers.tumblr.com/post/184899187973).
> 
> kudos and comments give me life!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm going to a concert tonight so have chapter four a little early.

Steve has lost count of how many times he's gone into town by now which he considers to be a good thing. At first, he kept track of every single time he got into this pickup and drove to town, almost like he was counting the times until he'd stop going or until he would be driving through instead of in.

He has stopped counting now, has stopped keeping track. He goes because he wants to, because he can, because he needs something and this is his town too. Sort of. He doesn't feel like he belongs here, not yet. Not when the only people he knows are Bucky and his employees and even them he doesn't know well enough to call friends.

Bucky, maybe.

He doesn't know the butcher who gets him meat twice a week nor does he know any of the grocers he frequently visits. He doesn't know anyone, not really, and they don't know him either. When he was growing up, knowing the people in your neighborhood was a normality. You weren't necessarily friends but you could hold a conversation, knew their names, knew what was happening in their lives.

That was how he grew up and what he's used to but it feels almost like an intrusion to do it here. This town is a community and while Steve has stopped counting the times he's come here and has started to consider it his town too, it's not his community and part of him doesn't think it should be either. After all, he doesn't know how long he'll stay.

He still goes back though.

Because he can't not, especially when it means seeing Bucky.  


✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰  


After picking up panels for the fence, Steve goes to _Barnes' Bakery_. It's empty today which isn't that surprising since it's late in the afternoon and the usual rush has long passed. Samuel is at the register, chin in one hand and phone in the other as he slumps over the counter. He looks up when the door opens but he goes right back to his phone when he sees Steve.

“Hey, Steve,” he says. “He's in the back.”

“Slumming it at work, huh?” Steve teases with a crooked smile.

“No one's here,” Samuel says with a shrug.

“I'm here.”

“And you're going in the back to Bucky, so.”

“Who says I am?”

Samuel looks up from his phone and quirks a brow.

Steve stares back. He doesn't last five seconds before he cracks and heads around the counter with a huff. Samuel laughs, small and quiet. It's a rarity to hear him laugh and it almost makes Steve smile.

Almost.

Instead, Steve gives him a narrowed eyed look in warning.

“Have fun!” Samuel calls after him.

“Shut up!” Steve calls back and pushes through to the back.

Bucky is there, bend over a table with his shoulders high and tense and a piping bag in his hands. There's at least fifty cupcakes lined up in front of him, maybe half already lovingly decorated with pink and white frosting. They look good, right out of the oven too.

Bucky looks up when Steve steps inside. He smiles at him for a moment before he looks back down and returns to his work, carefully planting a swirl of frosting on the cupcake he's hovering over. He's a mess which is nothing new but he looks more tired than usual.

Steve frowns at him a little.

“Here to steal a cupcake?” Bucky asks without looking up.

“Here to buy one,” Steve say, “if they're for sale.”

“They're not,” Bucky says and straightens with a groan. “They're for mrs. Nova's daughter's birthday party tomorrow.”

“Oh,” Steve says as neutral as he can to not show his disappointment.

Bucky looks at him and smiles. “I made extra,” he says and points.

Steve follows the direction of Bucky's finger to the table in the back. There are six cupcakes there, not decorated with frosting but Steve doesn't care. He goes over, grabs one, and hops up onto the table. He bites into it and moans appreciatively.

In front of him, Bucky's shoulders shake with laughter.

“Sometimes I think you only hang out with me for the food,” he says.

“Well...” Steve drawls.

Bucky casts him a look over his shoulder, eyes narrowed and lips pulled into a tight line.

Steve smiles back innocently.

“You're lucky I like you,” Bucky says. “Enough to put up with it, at least.”

“I'm honored.”

Bucky works in silence for a while after that and when he's done decorating, he puts the piping bag down, rolls his wrist a couple times, and then comes over to lean against the table with a heavy sigh. He's barely an inch from Steve's leg, elbow bumping against his knee when he lifts his arm to run his fingers through his curly and messy hair.

Steve wants to grab him and pull him closer.

He wants to rub his shoulders and maybe fix his hair.

He does none of it.

Instead, he looks at him and asks, “You getting enough sleep?”

“Nope,” Bucky says and grabs a cupcake himself. “You got any plans for the day?”

Steve wants to pry but he doesn't. “None set in stone,” he says. “Why?”

“You wanna grab a coffee with me? I could show you around town, if you want.”

Steve smiles. “That sounds nice.”

He has already explored the town on his own several times by now and has gotten a decent map of it created in his head. But that was alone and Bucky is offering and Steve can't find it in himself to say no. Not when it means spending time with Bucky.

Bucky smiles back. “When are you free?”

“I'm retired,” Steve says. “I'm free anytime.”  


✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰  


Bucky closes down the bakery after sending Samuel home. Steve hangs back while he shuts everything down and locks up the place and then falls in step with him as he starts walking down the street. Steve stays close to him but not too close, hands in his pockets to keep himself from doing something impulsive and stupid.

Wouldn't be the first time, after all.

Bucky takes him to a coffee shop ten minutes down the street. It's a nice place; an open space with wooden tables and chairs in the further end and the order counter in the other. The windows are big and lets in rays and rays of sunlight, brightening the place up.

When the line disappears in front of them and it's their turn, Bucky orders for them both before Steve can even think about making a decision. Steve gives him a questioning look and Bucky merely smiles and tells him to trust him.

Steve decides to be stupid and does.

Steve pays for their drinks. Bucky tries to protest but Steve doesn't listen and hands the barista his card with a smile while ignoring Bucky scoffing his name and slapping his bicep.

“You're an asshole,” Bucky says afterward. “I'm getting the next one then.”

Next one, he says, meaning they will do this again.

Steve smiles and says, “I guess we'll see.”

“You little punk,” Bucky says but there's a smile on his lips.

Steve doesn't disagree and only shrugs in response.

They sit down at a table in the back corner while they wait for their drinks to be made. Steve leans back in his seat and lets his legs spread out while Bucky leans forward and lays his hand on the table, right hand over the prosthetic.

He's looking at him so Steve looks back, a small smile on his lips.

“Do you ever take your hat off?” Bucky asks after a minute.

Subconsciously, Steve tug at the brim of his cap. “Sure,” he says. “At the farm.”

“Never in town?”

Steve shakes his head. “Can't risk it.”

“Because people might recognize you?”

“Yeah. And I don't know who'll rat me out, so. Hat stays on.”

Bucky hums and quietly mutters, “That's a shame.”

“Yeah?” Steve smiles. “Why's that?”

“It hides your face too much.”

Steve chuckles. “That's kind of the point, Buck.”

“I'm trying to tell you you have a handsome face, idiot.”

Steve blinks at him. “Oh;” he says dumbly.

Bucky isn't looking at him anymore. He has his face turned away, chin propped up on his closed fist that partially hides his face but doesn't hide the light pink-ish color that dusts over his cheeks in a faint blush. Steve can't not notice it.

“Thank you,” Steve says then pauses for a beat. “So do you.”

Bucky looks at him again, his eyes narrowed but he's smiling. He drops his hand and turns back to him with a slight shake of his head that feels almost disapproving.

“Do you not know how to take a compliment?” he asks.

“Hey! I said thank you.”

“Yeah, and then you threw it right back. That ain't how you do it, Steve.”

“Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't know there were rules to taking compliments.”

“Clearly.”

Steve rolls his eyes and snorts. “You're a jerk,” he tells him.

Bucky winks at him and says, “I know.”

Their drinks are done only minutes later and with them in hand, they head back outside. The sun has started to set by now, leaving the town in a dusky light. The air is a little cooler now too but it's not so bad and their drinks are warm which helps.

Steve has no idea what's in his cup but it's good.

Not too sweet, not too bitter, just right.

He decides he can trust Bucky again, maybe.

Bucky takes him to a few spots in the nearest areas. He takes him to a bookstore that mostly sells old classics and has a program where you can exchange books with other readers, he says. It's closed for the day so they don't go inside but Bucky tells him it's his go-to place for getting new books to read.

He points out a couple restaurants and takeout places as they walk down the street as well as a clothing store that sells everything at a cheap price but still has a decent quality. Steve makes a note of it in the back of his mind, not that he thinks he'll buy anything there.

When their cups are empty and dumped into a trashcan, Bucky leads him into a building that Steve forgets to read the sign for. Turns out, he doesn't need to read the sign either because he's barely stepped a foot inside and he can already hear the barking and the howling from the back, a much quieter choir of meows somewhere too.

“You took me to the shelter?” Steve asks and turns to Bucky.

“Yeah,” Bucky says with a shrug. “I come here sometimes. It's, uh. Therapeutic.”

Steve looks at him for a long moment. “You planning on getting one?” he asks.

“Maybe,” Bucky says. “One day. I'd like to but... they're a lot of work.”

Steve hums, then he looks away and toward the back.

Admittedly, he has always wanted a pet. He didn't know many people who had pets back in his time but there were a few though all were dogs. His best friend Arnie had one, an old spaniel who lazed around more than she did anything else. Steve could never be around her because on his endless list of allergies was fur, unfortunately.

Even if he hadn't been allergic, a pet was still something he could only dream of having. They were poor, he and his ma, and they could barely scrape enough money together to get through each week. It didn't help that his ma worked too much and Steve was sick more days than not. A pet was never in his future back then.

But the serum got rid of his allergies and now that he's retired with too much money to spend, getting a pet could be in his future. If he wants it to.  


✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰  


They don't stay at the shelter for very long, only long enough for Steve to see Bucky with a blindingly bright smile that makes him glad he's sitting down because he's sure his knees stop working right that second.  


✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰  


“How long have you lived here?” Steve asks.

They're strolling through the park now. It's mostly empty and sunlight is almost entirely gone at this point, streetlights casting light instead. The park is decently sized with a big open field on either side of the path leading through it. There's a pond in the center surrounded by planted trees and benches are placed here and there.

Steve and Bucky are walking along the path in a slow and unhurried pace.

It's nice.

Steve keeps his hands in his pockets still.

“About ten years now,” Bucky says. “I moved here when I was twenty-three.”

Steve hums and asks, “Do you like it here?”

“Yeah,” Bucky says and smiles. “Yeah, it's nice here. And I got a good business which helps.”

Steve chuckles. “Yeah, I can imagine that ain't too bad,” he says.

“It's good here,” Bucky says. “This is home for me.”

Steve smiles at him and then looks ahead.

They walk in silence for a while but Steve's curiosity is quick to get the better of him.

“Can I ask,” he starts. “Why did you move here?”

Bucky doesn't answer right away which makes Steve almost want to take the words right back. But then Bucky turns to him with a kind smile and opens his mouth.

“I don't think we're close enough for that story yet,” he says.

Steve inhales quietly, then he nods his head once. “Okay,” he says.

“Ask me another time.”

“When's a good time?”

Bucky shrugs and says, “I'll let you know.”

“Okay,” Steve says with a nod. “I'll be waiting.”

“Good,” Bucky says, his smile softening. “That means you'll be sticking around too.”

Steve chuckles airily. “I'm retired,” he says. “Where else am I gonna go?”

“You're retired,” Bucky echoes. “You could go anywhere.”

Steve pauses.

Bucky's right. Steve could go anywhere he wants. He has the money and the time and means. Nothing is tying him down anywhere anymore and hasn't for a while, now that he thinks about it. He's a landowner now, sure, but the farm isn't going anywhere. It's empty for the time being anyway, nothing will miss him if he left.

He hasn't settled anywhere. He could go anywhere in the world.

Steve looks around the park for a minute. It's quiet and still in a way that he has never experience a park to be before. He's used to big city parks where there's always someone making noise one way or another, mostly drunks making a racket. There's none of that here.

It's as calming as it is unsettling.

Then he looks at Bucky. Bucky is looking back at him, watching him with a small furrow between his brows and the corners of his lips tugged back ever so slightly. There's a question in his eyes but one he doesn't ask out loud. He doesn't need to either.

Steve smiles at him and says, “I think I'm good here for now.”

And he means every word of it.  


✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰  


There's a cat on his porch.

Steve stares at it from the front door, hand still on the handle. He woke up with the sunrise today which is later than he has for the past month now and even let himself stay in bed for a couple extra minutes after. He's wide awake so this isn't his sleep-muddled brain making him see things.

He blinks and rubs at his eyes.

When he opens them again, the cat is still there.

It's laying on the porch railing with its face turned toward the morning sunlight, eyes closed and tail swaying lightly down the length of the wooden poles. Its fur is a light brown and striped with a white underbelly and completely black ears. There's no collar around its neck and it's dirty and starved thin. A stray, most likely.

Slowly, Steve steps out onto the porch and leaves the door wide open. The cat turns its head toward him and opens its eyes after a while. The eyes are a pale grean and it blinks lazily at him but doesn't move an inch.

“Hey, kitty,” he says quietly and smiles at it.

The cat tilts its head at him and pushes itself up to sit instead. When he takes another couple steps closer and apparently one too close, the cat suddenly stands and hisses at him so he stops walking immediately and holds up his hands.

“Sorry,” he says, though he knows it won't understand. “I'll stay away.”

He does, taking a couple steps backwards until the cat seems to deem the distance between them good enough and lays back down in its spot on the railing. It keeps an eye on him and he stares right back for a minute before he nods to himself and heads back inside.

The cat is skinny, so skinny that he could see its ribs when it sat up. He's willing to bet it hasn't had anything to eat in days so he walks into the kitchen and looks through the cabinet until he finds the can of tuna he's been saving for a salad one day. He opens it and pours it onto a plate then grabs his smallest plastic bowl and fills it with water.

With both the plate and the bowl balanced in his hands, he walks back outside. The cat is still there but it's standing up and walking along the railing on careful feet, following the sunlight as it rises and moves. It turns to him when he comes back outside, tail low and almost tucked away.

Steve doesn't move closer. He smiles at it and lowers himself into a crouch. He places the plate and the bowl by his feet, then he steps around both and heads toward the steps leading off the porch. He keeps his distance from the cat, smiling when it hisses at him again, and walks away.

When he comes back almost an hour later, the food is mostly gone and the water has barely been touched but he can spot bits of dirt floating around in there so the cat must have at least dipped its mouth down to it or put its paw in the water.

Steve smiles and puts the plate and bowl in the sink.  


✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰  


Next time he's in town, Steve buys an armful of tuna. He catches himself eyeing the cat food in the pets aisle too and briefly considers buying it but he manages to talk himself out of it, fortunately.

The cat doesn't show up the next day.

The day after, Steve sees it roaming around on the porch right before he turns in for the night so he leaves an opened tuna can out for it. In the morning, it's empty.  


✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰  


He gets visitors a couple weeks later, this time ones less furry.

Steve is returning home from an afternoon at the movie theater with Bucky. They watched some sci-fi movie that Bucky has apparently been looking forward to for ages but it's a sequel so Steve had no idea what was happening half the time. It wasn't so bad though. Bucky sat next to him, sharing a bucket of popcorn with him.

Steve is pulling up on the gate when he sees a black Holden parked in front of the house. He's alert and on guard in a heartbeat but it doesn't last for more than a second because then he sees a flash of familiar red hair on the porch and smiles.

Sam and Natasha are sitting on the porch steps. Steve hasn't seen them for well over a month now and he almost forgot how much he's missed them but seeing them here, now, makes it hard not to notice it.

They still look the same, though Sam's beard is a little thicker and fuller and Natasha has cut her hair shorter than it was before.

The two of them seem to be in deep conversation but that stops the moment Steve comes to a rolling stop next to their parked car. They turn to him with smiles already growing on their faces and Steve can't help but smile back as he turns his engine off.

“I didn't know I was expecting visitors,” Steve says as he steps out of the pickup truck.

“Surprise!” Natasha calls out and holds up her arms.

Steve laughs, a quiet chuckle as he shakes his head.

Sam is the first to stand and Steve meets him in the middle. He wraps his arms around him in a tight embrace that Sam returns with a squeeze, like he always does. Steve hadn't realized how much he's missed it. Not just hugs in general but Sam's hugs specifically.

When they part, they both take a moment to look each other over, smiles growing wider the longer they look. The moment is interrupted when Natasha comes over and pushes her way between them. Steve chuckles quietly and gives her a hug too, one that she happily returns.

“We wanted to see your new digs,” Sam says. “Figured it was about time.”

“Well,” Steve says in a breath, keeping an arm around Natasha. “Not much to look at.”

“I don't know,” Natasha muses. “I think it's starting to look nice.”

Steve hums and looks around.

The place does look a lot better than it did when he first arrived. He's been good at keeping the grass cut short all around the property instead of the long and overgrown it used to be. The barn in the distance has been painted a nice shade of red and the fence around the pasture is mostly done though the fence lining in the property still has a ways to go.

The house is far from done on the interior part but it looks nice from the outside. He still has a lot of things to cross off on his list — more have been added along the way, too — but he's getting there. Slowly but surely. He's done a lot and it shows but it still doesn't feel _right_. Not exactly, anyway.

It feels too... empty.

“I suppose,” Steve murmurs quietly.

Natasha gives him a little squeeze, her arms still wrapped around his middle.

“You've done a good job, Steve,” Sam tells him with a smile.

Steve smiles back. “Thank you,” he says.  


✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰  


He invites them inside and makes them dinner. Sam helps him, takes him step by step through a recipe he's made them a couple times on their road trip. It's an easy and fairly simple thing to make and while Steve has successfully made himself a few meals over the past month, he's still nowhere near confident in the kitchen so this is nice.

Meanwhile, Natasha sits nearby on the kitchen's windowsill. She doesn't offer to help and neither he nor Sam ask her to either. She seems content to just sit there and watch them work with a smile on her lips. She doesn't say anything. Not for a while, anyway.

When she does, it's when Sam has stepped away to set the table.

“Steve,” she says. “There's a cat on your porch.”

Steve looks at her for a moment, then he leans back far enough to follow her eyes out the window.

The cat is back, sauntering on the porch railing with its tail raised. There's a little more meat on its bones now but it's still way too skinny and in need of a thorough cleaning. But Steve hasn't been able to get close enough to even pet it.

He's working on that.

“Yeah, I know,” he says and looks away again.

“Yours?” Natasha asks.

“No,” Steve says. “A stray. I think.”

Natasha hums. “Looks hungry,” she says after a beat.

Steve doesn't look at her when he says, “If you wanna feed it, there's a can of tuna in the cabinet.”

Natasha is on her feet and hurrying over to the cabinet before he's even done with his sentence. He rolls his eyes at her but doesn't make a comment and just hands her the can opener when she's found the tuna. She thanks him and practically runs out to the porch afterward.

Out the window, he can see her calmly sitting down in a crisscross position with the tuna can open in front of her. The cat eyes her suspiciously and doesn't move any closer, keeping the distance between them as big as it is.

Natasha doesn't seem to mind one bit.

“If you keep feeding it,” Sam says, “it's not gonna leave again.”

“I know,” Steve says with a sigh. “But I couldn't let it starve.”

“Well. Maybe letting it stay isn't such a bad thing.”

“Sam.” Steve looks at him. “I'm not getting a cat.”

Sam smiles at him and says, “I think you already do, man.”

Steve huffs but doesn't argue.  


✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰  


“Steve,” Natasha says when she comes back inside. “I'm gonna steal your cat.”

“Not my cat,” Steve reminds her. “And you already have one.”

“One can never have too many cats.”

“How 'bout taking care of the one you already have?”

“Liho's with Sharon. I need a cat in this home too.”

Steve pauses and looks at her.

Natasha doesn't slip up. She chooses her words carefully, always.

Home. He doesn't know whether she means this house or him but he smiles either way.

“Okay,” he says. “I'll keep you posted.”

Natasha smiles at him.  


✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰  


“How are things back in the city?” Steve asks.

They're gathered around the dinner table now, all three already on their second serving. Sam and Natasha wolfed down their first servings, both clearly starving after the long drive to get here. Or Steve assumes it was long, since he has no idea where they were before.

But this is out in the middle of nowhere. It'd be a long drive regardless.

“Alright,” Sam says with a one-shouldered shrug.

“Working on it,” Natasha says.

Steve hums and asks, “Coming out of hiding yet?”

“Trying to,” Natasha says. “Maria is talking with the government, trying to work something out. Sharon's helping. Nick too but, you know. He's dead.”

Steve smiles a little, nodding. “You miss it?” he asks them. “Being out there with the rest?”

“Honestly?” Sam leans back in his seat. “No. I'm tired of having to hide and never settle down anywhere. I miss having a home. But I don't miss having to answer to anyone, especially not the government. We're a team with leaders, sure, but we work together and don't have anyone telling us what we can and can't do. If we want to help, we do.”

“And we don't have to deal with politics,” Natasha says.

“Or press,” Sam says.

“God, I do not miss the press.”

Steve chuckles and says, “You're gonna have to, if they figure something out.”

“I know,” Sam sigh. “I'm already dreading it. But I'll take it if I can get a permanent roof over my head.”

“Amen,” Natasha says and raises her glass.

“Well,” Steve says and smiles at them. “Keep me updated.”

“We will.”  


✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰  


Sam goes to bed first. He starts yawning while they're clearing off the table so Steve offers up the spare bedroom that has a bed for them to stay in, the other still empty. The bed is big enough for them both and even if it wasn't, the couch is a good place to sleep too.

Steve knows, he's fallen asleep there more times than he can count since he bought it.

Sam accepts the offer and disappears into the bedroom with a tired goodnight. Steve smiles after him, then he grabs a couple beers from the fridge and hands one to Natasha before they relocate into the living room. Steve sits down on one end and Natasha sits down on the other, stretching her legs out and placing her feet in his lap.

He lets her, resting a hand on her shin.

“How are things with Sharon?” he asks her after a minute.

“They're good,” Natasha says. “She's taking me on a date next week.”

Steve smiles. “Oh yeah?”

Natasha hums in affirmation.

“That's exciting,” Steve says. “You guys exclusive yet?”

“I'm working on it.”

“Might wanna work fast. Women like that aren't gonna wait around forever.”

Natasha looks at him, her smile a little tight. “Women like that?” she repeats questioningly.

“Carter women. People tend to fall for them fast.”

“Understandably. I don't see why I would have to work fast though. I like her, she likes me. There's no 'competition', if that's what you're implying.”

“That... didn't come out right.”

“No, it didn't,” Natasha says, her smile less tight. “But I suppose you would know. About Carter women. Since you've kissed two of them.”

Steve flushes and scratches his neck. “I didn't mean to—”

“You did mean to kiss Sharon,” Natasha interrupts. “Don't lie.”

“Okay,” Steve says and smiles a little. “But I wouldn't have if I'd known that she's, uh.”

“A lesbian?”

Steve points at her. “That.”

“It's not a bad word,” Natasha says with a chuckle.

“I know that.”

“Would you have kissed her if you knew she's a Carter?”

“Probably not. Wouldn't have felt right.”

Natasha hums and they fall quiet for a moment.

Then she pokes his thigh with her toe and says, “And stay out of my love life, by the way.”

“Like you stay out of mine?”

“Oh, I'm sorry. Are _you_ working on it with someone?”

Steve pauses for a beat, then he flushes and mumbles, “Maybe.”

Natasha's eyes widen with both delight and surprise. She smiles big and wide and shift closer, then she puts her chin in her hands with her elbows on her now bend knees. She looks up at him with wide and curious eyes.

“Do tell,” she says.

Steve sighs. “Can we just talk about you and Sharon?”

“Nope,” Natasha says. “Come on, Rogers. Spill the beans.”

Steve groans. He hesitates for a long minute but he knows Natasha and he knows she won't stop bugging him about it until he starts talking. That or she'll find out on her own and Steve doesn't want to throw that on Bucky.

“His name is Bucky,” he tells her. “He owns a bakery in town.”

“Does he bake too?”

“He does. He's, uh.” Steve breathes out a laugh. “He's really fucking good at it.”

“The way to a man's heart is through his stomach.”

Steve hums in agreement. “Doesn't hurt that he's easy on the eyes too.”

“Aw. That's adorable.”

Steve rolls his eyes with a scoff and looks away, cheeks flushed red.

“Are you gonna ask him out?”

“Uh.” Steve rubs the back of his neck. “Maybe. I want to.”

Natasha look at him for a moment. “But?” she prompts.

“But,” Steve echoes and sighs. “He's not part of our world.”

“The superhero one?”

“Yeah. That one.”

“Hate to break it to you but neither are you. Not anymore.”

“Maybe not but that doesn't mean it's not still a part of me.”

Natasha doesn't say anything right away.

Steve lowers his gaze to the bottle in his hands.

He's been retired for almost two months now and has left the superhero business behind but it still haunts him every day. Like the war and like his days in the 30s' Brooklyn. It's a part of him and while he would love to ignore it and live a normal life, he knows he can't. Not really.

Every time he lifts something heavy with ease or goes for a run or spends hours upon hours out on the farm without breaking a sweat, Steve is reminded of the serum that runs through his veins. He retired but he's no normal human being and never will be.

And he might not be fighting but his friends— the people he considers family— still do and that means there is still a part of him out there in the business he wanted to leave behind. He'll inadvertently be in the business until the day he dies and he knows this because he can't let go.

He has over a hundred years worth of baggage and to ask someone to deal with that is a lot. And yet he _wants_ so badly. Every time he sees or even thinks about Bucky, he wants and wants and wants and he's not sure how much longer he can stand not being able to take.

He wants to be selfish, just once.

“You should get therapy,” Natasha says after a while.

Steve scoffs, not unkindly.

“I'm serious,” Natasha says and lays a hand on his shoulder. “It might do you good.”

Steve looks at her for a moment, then he smiles and says, “You first.”

Natasha rolls her eyes and punches his shoulder.  


✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰  


In the morning, Steve is the first to wake up. He spends a couple minutes lazing around in bed as he scrolls through his phone before he gets out of bed to get dressed. Sam is asleep on the couch when he walks through the house so Steve walks on quiet feet into the kitchen where he starts brewing a pot of coffee and opens up a can of tuna.

He pours himself a cup and walks out to the porch with his hands full. He sets the coffee down on the wooden table next to the long bench and walks over to the other end of the porch to put the tuna down, just in case the cat decides to come back this morning. Then, he sits down and looks out over the field in front of him to watch the rising sun slowly turn night into day.

Steve makes it halfway through his coffee before Sam comes walking out the front door. He doesn't look entirely awake and he's not wearing pants but there's a cup of steaming coffee in his hands and he smiles at him when they lock eyes.

“Morning,” Steve says and scoots over on the bench.

“Morning,” Sam echoes and sits down next to him with a sigh.

The sun rises before them in silence while they drink their coffees and Sam wakes up bit by bit. The birds chirp in the distance, singing a welcome to the day, and the quiet wind rustles the trees' crowns in the distance.

When his cup is empty, Sam leans back and lets out a slow sigh.

“This is a nice place,” he says.

Steve hums. “Yeah,” he says. “It's alright.”

“Your couch is super comfortable, by the way.”

“I know. I've fallen asleep there many times myself.”

Sam chuckles, then he lays an arm along the back of the bench and rests his foot on his opposite knee, the cup set down between his thighs. Steve downs the rest of his coffee and puts it down on the porch ground. When he sits back up, he crosses his arms and inhales deeply, breathing in the fresh air.

“How's retired life treating you so far?” Sam asks.

“It's alright, I suppose,” Steve says with a shrug.

“You still having doubts?”

“Sometimes.”

“Enough to make you quit?”

Steve pauses for a beat, then he smiles and says, “Not yet.”

“Good,” Sam says. “I think this place is good for you. You seem more relaxed already.”

“Not fighting and running for a couple months does that to a man.”

Sam chuckles and says, “I guess so. You picked up any new hobbies yet?”

“No,” Steve says. “Other than fixing this place, I haven't really done anything.”

“You got your cat though.”

“Not my cat.”

“Fine. _The_ cat, then.”

“It shows up once every couple days. I wouldn't really call it a hobby. Or anything.”

Sam hums but doesn't say anything.

“I am,” Steve sighs, “really bad at this retirement thing.”

“You've only been retired for a couple months,” Sam says and pats his shoulder. “You'll be knitting scarves and playing bingo before you know it.”

Steve scoffs halfheartedly. “There's no fucking way I'm doing either,” he says.

“Wanna bet?” Sam asks and holds out his hand.

“Absolutely,” Steve says without hesitation and slips his hand into Sam's.

Sam gives his hand a firm shake then he lets go. “You'll be eating those words,” he says with a grin.

“Not a chance. I'll refuse to knit or play bingo out of spite.”

“Now, how is that fair?”

“I don't play fair, Sam.”

“Ten bucks for the winner if we play fair.”

Steve narrows his eyes.

Sam raises his brows back.

“Fine,” Steve says though he's not happy about it.

“Great,” Sam says with a smug smile.

Steve scoffs and slumps back against the bench, stretching his legs out.

The sun rises the rest of the way onto the sky above them. The tuna is left untouched, no signs of the cat. Steve doesn't see her but he can hear someone puttering around in the kitchen and assumes Natasha has gotten up as well. He has never known her to be quiet when she doesn't have to be.

When her spy mode is turned off, she's noisy and Steve has a sneaking suspicion it's on purpose.

“By the way,” Sam says after a while. “I saw a sign at the community center in town when we were driving through. Said something about group therapy?”

Steve hums and nods. He's seen the sign, once or twice.

“Good place?” Sam asks.

“Wouldn't know,” Steve says. “Haven't been there.”

Sam pauses for a second. “Yet?” he asks.

“Yeah,” Steve says. “Yet. I'm... working on it.”

“I could stay another day to go with you, if you want.”

“Thank you,” Steve says and smiles at him, “but it's okay.”

“Wouldn't be a hassle. I kinda need it, to be honest with you.”

“You go without me. I'm... not ready for that yet. I'll get there. Eventually.”

“Okay. I'll give you a sitrep.”

“Thank you, Sam.”

“We're brothers, man. I got your back.”

Steve smiles at him and puts his hand on Sam's knee, gives him a gentle squeeze.

Natasha joins them on the porch only minutes later with a plate stacked with food. She kicks at Steve's feet until he scoots closer to Sam and makes room for her on the other end of the bench. She sits down, facing them with her back to the armrest, and stretches her legs out onto both their laps. Not that either of them mind.

They eat breakfast, Natasha sharing hers with them because she's brought out enough for the three of them. When the plate is empty, Steve shows them around the rest of the property even though there isn't much to see yet. It still has a long way to go but it's getting there little by little.

When Sam and Natasha leave, it's with tight and lingering hugs and Steve watches them drive off for far longer than he probably should. He knows that staying here is better for him but it's hard when he misses his family.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> rebloggable post on [tumblr](https://mlmsrogers.tumblr.com/post/184899187973).
> 
> kudos and comments give me life!


	5. Chapter 5

The cat is back.

It sits perched on the porch railing when Steve comes outside, much like so many other mornings. But unlike any other time, it's sitting up and looking at him when he opens the door, ears standing tall and eyes wide.

They've had this routine for a while now. The cat isn't nearly as skinny as it used to be but it could still use some more meat on its bones so Steve hasn't stopped buying armfuls of tuna whenever he can. He has thought about getting cat food too but that feels too much like admitting he has a cat, even though said cat is technically still a stray.

Steve already has an opened can of tuna in his hand today. The cat seems to smell this because it perks up a little when he steps out onto the porch. He smiles at it and carefully steps closer toward the railing where it's perched, testing how close he can get today.

“Morning, pal,” he says softly.

The cat meows back but doesn't move.

Steve stops a step and a half away from the railing and drops into a crouch to put the can down by his feet. He doesn't want to scare the cat away, not when it has let him get this close, so he steps back and goes over to sit down on the bench instead.

It doesn't take long before the cat hops off the railing and settles down to eat from the tuna. Steve watches it munch away for a while, a smile slowly growing on his lips. It doesn't eat the whole thing, maybe not even half, but it's enough to keep it full for at least a little while.

The cat turns to him and stares before it starts to saunter over toward him. Steve doesn't move a muscle and lets it, not taking his eyes off it for a single second. And when it butts its head against his shin and lets out a noise that sounds suspiciously like a purr, Steve holds his breath.

The cat runs off right after but that's okay.

Steve sits there for a while, a happy smile on his lips.  
  


✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰  
  


Time passes.

Sam and Natasha have gone back to their lives by now and while they're busy trying to make things work, they still talk occasionally. Steve has phone calls and skype calls with them both when they're not stuck in a car and driving for hours upon hours. When they are on yet another road trip to somewhere new, he gets send pictures of each location they reach.

Sometimes Sharon is in those pictures too, usually wrapped around Natasha one way or another. Sometimes Clint is there too though not quite as often anymore. He has a life in New York, after all; a building to run and a dog to care for. He only shows up when they drive through the city which isn't as often as Steve knows they'd both like.

Steve misses being out there with them but he's doing alright here on his own.

He goes to that group therapy thing. Sam told him they're a nice bunch so he decides to give it a try one evening. He doesn't talk because he still struggles to figure out how to make his issues as vague as possible to keep himself safe and hidden, even though the guy who runs the group starts the session off by saying everything said in here stays in here.

Steve still doesn't say anything, can't get himself to do it.

But it's nice anyway. It's nice to just sit there and listen. It makes him feel a little less alone.

He comes back the next week. And then the next and the next until it becomes part of his routine.

He never speaks but that's alright. He befriends a couple people there anyway; an elderly black man who introduces himself as Elliot and who still has plenty of fight in him despite his old age and an Asian woman in her late thirties who tells him to call her Brie fifteen minutes into their conversation about a fantasy book they've both read.

They don't talk any other time than right after group. Elliot has invited him to play cards with him and his friends once or twice but Steve has declined each time. He's not ready for that yet. One day, maybe. But not now.

Steve sees Bucky often too. In fact, he sees him more now than he used to. Take this week, for example. He saw him no more than two days ago when he went into the bakery for no reason other than Bucky had texted him and told him to come keep him company if he had the time to.

And now, today, Steve is having lunch with him. They're sitting at a table in the coffee shop only ten minutes from the bakery. Steve has already finished his lunch and is taking his time getting through his coffee while Bucky is still eating his way through his sandwich, his drink left mostly untouched.

(“I'm not letting you pay this time,” Bucky had said after they'd ordered.

“Too late,” Steve had said and handed his card to the barista before Bucky could get his wallet out.

Bucky had smacked him and cursed at him and Steve had laughed.

“Let me pay, just once!”

“Not a chance, Buck.”)

Under the table, their feet are dangerously close. If Steve shifts his foot even a little bit, it would bump against Bucky's. He tries not to think about it, afraid it would give him too many ideas and none of them good.

“You were an artist, right?” Bucky asks after swallowing a bite.

Steve hums and says, “I was.”

“Ever thought about picking it back up?”

“I used to,” Steve admits. “And I did pick it up when I first woke up but then... I don't know, it just didn't feel that important anymore.”

Bucky hums. “And what about now?” he asks.

“I don't know,” Steve says. “Maybe it could be a hobby. Better than knitting, at least.”

Bucky laughs and looks at him in confusion. “Knitting?” he asks.

“Yeah, you know.” Steve shrugs a shoulder. “Old people stuff.”

“Old people stuff,” Bucky echoes flatly.

“I'm old, Buck. A hundred-and-one.”

“Take away the seventy years you were frozen and you're thirty-one. That's younger than me.”

Steve sighs and says, “Doesn't feel like it, to be honest.”

“Bud do you feel a hundred-and-one?”

Steve pauses. “No,” he says. “I feel... both old and young. I don't know, it's confusing.”

“I bet. But age is just a number, anyway. You're retired but you ain't old, pal.”

“That's the serum.”

“I don't mean you don't _look_ old. You _aren't_ old. You got plenty of life ahead of you.”

Steve smiles at him but says nothing.

Bucky looks back, a brow quirked.

“That's the—”

“Shut up,” Bucky cuts him off with a groan and kicks him under the table.

Steve laughs and kicks him back. And afterward, he decides to be bold and keeps his foot there, pressed against Bucky's. Bucky doesn't move his foot away either and smiles at him across the table, cheeks a little pink.

Steve's heart does a funny flip in his chest.

“What would you do?” he asks then. “If you were retired and had all this time to do whatever.”

“Travel,” Bucky says. “See the world, maybe. I haven't really thought about it much 'cause I like doing what I do and this town is my home. I think, ultimately, I'd like to settle down with someone. Somewhere. Enjoy life with them.”

He looks at him when he says it, doesn't break their eye contact.

Steve stares right back, holding his breath.

Oh. Okay.  
  


✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰  
  


Steve never gave up on his art, not really.

The sketchbook and pens that he bought after he'd been (sort of) introduced to the twenty-first century by a couple SHIELD agents were left behind when he and the others who disagreed with the Accords became fugitives but he got himself a blank paged notebook on the road with the intend to start again.

He never did so when he digs it out back at the farmhouse, stored away in the desk drawer in the bedroom, he finds it to still be blank and empty aside from the small circular doodle of nothing in particular in the corner of the first page.

He sits down with a pencil in his hand, opens a blank page, and draws.

Steve was never one for colors. He was colorblind before the serum and while it was only reds and greens that he couldn't see, he never bothered adding color to his art. He drew with charcoal and did mostly buildings and inanimate objects but what appears from his hand on the page before him now is a face.

It's a little embarrassing how well he has memorized Bucky's face but considering how much and how long he has been looking at him, he would almost be annoyed at himself if he didn't know most details of this man's face. Like the cleft in his chin under his stubble or the crowfeet by the corners of his eyes or the slight hint of lines on his forehead.

He doesn't draw more than a very rough sketch before he stops. His wrist is a little sore from disuse in this type of way so he rolls it out as he drags his eyes over the page.

“Not bad, Rogers,” he mutters quietly to himself.

Bucky is smiling on the page, black and white lips stretched out into a small smile.

Steve stares down at it for a while. Then he picks up his phone and writes out a text.

‹ To Natasha, _17:52_ : How do you ask someone out?

He doesn't even get to put the phone down before she calls him.

“You could've just texted back,” he answers the call with.

“Not a chance,” Natasha says on the other end. “Details. Now.”

“I'm...” Steve fidgets, head ducked. “I'm thinking of asking Bucky out.”

“Yes,” Natasha says without a beat. “Do it.”

“Nat,” he says. “I texted you for a reason. I don't know how.”

“It's easy. Ask him out for dinner.”

“Ask who what now?” he hears Sam say loudly in the background.

Natasha shushes him and says, “You're not a part of this.”

“Just put me on speaker,” Steve tells her with an eye roll.

There's some shuffling on the other end. Steve imagines them sitting on a couch or maybe a bed in a motel somewhere. Last he heard, they were driving through Texas but they could be anywhere else now.

“Okay,” Sam says after a moment. “Who are you asking out for dinner?”

“Bucky,” Steve says. “He owns a bakery in town.”

“Ohh, a business owner,” Sam says. “That's fancy. You guys friends?”

“I think so,” Steve says uncertainly. “I mean... I hope so. _I_ think we are.”

“And now you wanna take him out. On a date.”

“I do.” Steve hesitates for a beat. “Honestly, I've wanted to ask him out since the first time I saw him.”

“Wow. And that was... when?”

“About three months ago now.”

“Damn, man. You're playing the long game, huh?”

Steve sighs and rubs at his temples. “I'm out of my depth, Sam,” he says. “I haven't been on a proper date since the 30s and that wasn't a successful experience. And then Peggy... I have no idea what I'm doing here.”

“First,” Natasha says, “you're gonna actually ask him out. To dinner.”

“Right,” Steve says and exhales sharply.

“And then you're gonna call us and we'll come up with a plan together.”

“Right,” Sam says with a huff. “Because we are experts in dating.”

“Hey,” Natasha says. “I have a girlfriend now.”

“And how long did that take?”

There's a long pause on the other end. “Shut up,” Natasha says.

Steve laughs softly. “I miss you guys,” he says in a sigh.

“We miss you too,” Sam says. His smile is clear in his voice.

“Okay,” Steve says and takes in a breath. “I'm gonna ask him out.”

“Atta boy,” Sam says.

“Go get him,” Natasha says.  
  


✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰  
  


Steve walks into _Barnes' Bakery_ the next day with his heart in his throat. He has a plan in his head and the words are resting on his tongue. He's been practicing, over and over again to his reflection as he was getting ready to leave and muttered quietly as he drove into town.

He knows what he wants to say.

But the second he walks into the back and sees Bucky standing there, washing his hands with flour on his cheeks and red frosting stuck in his hair, Steve forgets every word and every step of the plan. Just like that.

“Hey, Steve,” Bucky says with a smile.

“Hey,” Steve says in a breath.

Bucky looks at him, brows furrowed bu still smiling. “You okay?” he asks.

“Yeah, uh.” Steve clears his throat, stuffs his hands in his pockets. “Yeah. I'm good.”

“Okay,” Bucky says slowly. “So. What's up?”

“Do you eat dinner?” Steve blurts out.

Bucky pauses and stares at him. Slowly, he raises his brows.

“I mean,” Steve continues, flushing as he stumbles over his words. “Of course you do. But do you— would you— do you wanna have dinner? With, uh. With me. Sometime.”

“Are you asking me out on a date?” Bucky asks with a smile.

Steve exhales and says, “Trying to.”

Bucky's smile softens. “I'd love to have dinner with you,” he says.

“Great,” Steve says with a sigh and smiles back. “Great. Uh. When are you free?”

“How's this Friday?”

“Perfect.”

“Great.”

Steve smiles at Bucky and Bucky smiles back.

Neither of them say anything for a long minute, then Steve clears his throat.

“Uh, well,” he says and takes a step back. “I'll see you Friday?”

Bucky chuckles. “See you Friday, Steve.”

Steve leaves the bakery on cloud nine.  
  


✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰  
  


He comes crashing back down in his pickup on the way back to the farm.

Panic rushes through him and he unintentionally speeds up a little once he hits the country road after leaving town. He speeds home a little— well, a lot faster than the legal speed limit allows him but he doesn't care at the moment. There are no cops out here anyway, or anyone else for that matter.

When he reaches the farm, he parks but doesn't get out. Instead, he sits back and calls Natasha.

“I did it,” he says in lieu of greeting the second she picks up.

“You did it?” Natasha asks.

In the distance, Steve can hear water running on her end. It doesn't sound like a shower.

“Where are you?” he asks instead of answering.

“Burney Falls,” Natasha says. “Don't avoid the question. What did you do?”

Steve takes in a breath. “I asked Bucky out,” he says.

Natasha makes a sound something akin to a squeak and it startles a laugh out of Steve because it's a noise he doesn't expect to hear from her. She doesn't say anything right away but he can hear movement on her end along with voices that sounds a lot like Sam and Sharon.

Steve rolls his eyes but the panic washes away a little.

“You're on speaker,” Natasha says then. “Repeat that, please.”

Steve sighs and says, “I asked Bucky out.”

“Hey, good for you!” Sam says with a smile in his voice.

“Bucky?” Sharon asks. “Is that the baker guy?”

“Yeah,” Steve says. “That's the one.”

“And what did he say?” Sam asks.

“He said yes. We're going out this Friday.”

“That's exciting.”

“Where are you going?” Sharon asks.

“I don't know,” Steve says and rubs at his neck. “That's, uh. Kind of why I called.”

“Take him to a restaurant,” Natasha says. “Somewhere nice but not too nice.”

“And then?”

“And then you walk him home. That's it. Things haven't changed that much, Steve.”

Steve takes in a breath, lets it back out. “I'm nervous,” he says.

“Good,” Sharon says. “That means you care.”

“You guys are friends,” Sam says. “He knows you. You'll do fine.”

Steve worries his lip. “I really like him.”

“Then go get him, man.”

“Alright. Yeah. Okay.”  
  


✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰  
  


Steve manages to get a table at a restaurant in town for Friday. He texts Bucky the time and place and Bucky replies with his address along with a request to pick him up. Steve doesn't hesitate to say yes and doesn't tell him he's so nervous that he can't focus on anything else.

Excited too, of course, but mostly nervous.

When Friday arrives, Steve spends ages picking out an outfit. He ends up settling on something simple because that's all he knows. He puts on a pair of jeans that hug his legs nicely, a shirt that sits not too tightly on his torso, and a light jacket thrown over.

He looks alright, he thinks. Acceptable.

On the way out the door, he grabs his keys and wallet and phone but he pauses at the cap. He doesn't usually head into town without it tugged low onto his head to obscure his face as much as possible. He doesn't usually but this is a special occasion so he leaves the cap behind.

The cat is on the porch when he opens the door. He pauses and stares at it and it stares right back from where it's sitting, not on the railing this time but on the porch ground and surprisingly close to him.

It tilts its head at him and meows softly and Steve walks back inside but leaves the door open.

He comes back outside with a can of tuna. The cat doesn't move even after he's put it down in front of it but when he gets into his pickup truck, he sees the cat approach the can and sticking its face into it.

Steve smiles to himself and drives off.  
  


✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰  
  


Bucky is waiting for him outside on the sidewalk.

His hair is blowing slightly in the wind, curly bangs sweeping across his forehead. His chin is dipped and his eyes are on the phone in his right hand, the prosthetic hidden away in the pocket of his black bomber jacket, so he doesn't see when Steve comes to a slow and rolling stop in front of him.

“Bucky!” Steve calls out through the rolled down window.

Bucky looks up at his voice and smiles at him. He pockets his phone and walks over, then he bends down and rests his forearm on the window. His smile is soft and crooked, the glint in his eye a little teasing and playful.

“Hey, handsome,” Bucky says. “Looking for company?”

“That depends,” Steve says. “What's your price?”

“A decent meal and some good conversation.”

Steve hums. “You drive a hard bargain.”

Bucky chuckles, his shoulders shaking with it.

Steve smiles, then he pats the passenger's seat. “Hop in,” he says.

Bucky gets in and Steve drives them to the restaurant. Their table is in the back, tugged away in the corner for some privacy but it still leaves a good view of both the rest of the room and the street on the other side of the windows.

They get served quickly and Steve limits himself to only ordering one meal for himself even though he knows he could very well eat two. But he doesn't and when the waiter leaves them with a smile after telling them their meals will be right out, he looks across the table at Bucky.

Bucky is looking at him already, eyes narrowed and fixated on his head.

“You're not wearing your hat,” he says after a pause.

“I'm not,” Steve says and smiles.

“On purpose?”

“On purpose.”

“Wow. Way to make a guy feel special.”

“Well.” Steve shrugs. “I figured it was time to stop hiding a little.”

Bucky smiles and says, “And you already know you're safe here.”

Steve takes in a breath. “I hope so,” he says.

Bucky looks at him in silence for a long moment, then he places his right hand palm up on the table. He curls his fingers in a come-hither motion to Steve, with a blush rising to his cheeks, raises his own hand and places it into Bucky's.

Bucky curls his fingers around his hand and squeezes.

“You're safe, Steve,” he says. “I promise. I'll make sure of it.”

Steve looks at him, his heart skipping a beat when Bucky caresses the back of his hand gently.

He smiles and forgets to be scared.  
  


✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰  
  


Their hands stay wrapped around each other until their food arrives. They let go but only because they have to. They start eating in silence. The silence drags on and the longer it does, the more Steve's nerves come rushing back.

He should ask a question, say something, _anything_ , but every time he opens his mouth, it's only to shovel in more food.

Bucky is the one to break the silence.

“This is stupid,” he says with a laugh. “We've had no problem talking before and now we can't think of anything to say?”

Steve lets out a laugh. “I'm, uh.” He clears his throat. “I'm nervous.”

“Me too,” Bucky says. “I haven't been on a date in, oh. Eleven years, give or take.”

Steve blinks at him in surprise. “Seriously?”

“Yeah. What, you don't believe me?”

“It's hard to believe no one has wanted that,” Steve gestures to him, “for that long.”

Bucky rolls his eyes but there's a blush high on his cheeks. “Shut up,” he mutters.

“I'm serious. Why that long?”

“I don't know. Just haven't felt like it.”

Bucky doesn't elaborate. Instead, he ducks his head and shoves a forkful of food into his mouth. He doesn't look at Steve, his eyes darting around the room and avoiding him entirely.

“You don't have to talk about it,” Steve says.

“There's nothing to talk about,” Bucky says and looks down at his plate. “I had... well, something happened, I moved out here, and dating wasn't my priority. Still isn't but then you showed up and, well. How could I resist?”

Steve pauses, then he says, “This doesn't have to be a date if you don't want it to be.”

“Don't do that,” Bucky says and meets his eye. “Dating isn't my priority but that doesn't mean I don't want to do it. And trust me, I do want to. Especially with you. So don't twist my words and think I'm forcing myself to be here. If I didn't want to be here, I wouldn't be here.”

“Okay,” Steve says. “This is a date then.”

“Good,” Bucky says. “Now stop keeping your feet under your chair. I'm trying to play footsie.”

Steve laughs and stretches his legs out to meet Bucky's feet under the table.

The conversation flows easily after that. They talk and laugh as the food on their plates slowly disappears and Steve forgets all about being nervous, not that his heart doesn't occasionally remind him by skipping a beat. He blames it on Bucky's foot under the table, lifting and brushing against his leg every once in a while but never going further than his shin.

They order desert when they're finished, a shared piece of carrot cake.

“Remember a while ago,” Bucky asks, “when you asked me why I moved here?”

Steve looks at him. They're sitting close now, both leaned over the table toward the desert in the middle. He could lean just a little more forward and kiss him if he wanted to. He's thought about it but he hasn't yet and he doesn't and won't.

“I remember,” he says.

“I told you to ask another time.”

“You did. Because we weren't close enough.”

Bucky smiles at him. “Ask me now.”

Steve leans back in hi seat a little. “Why did you move here?” he asks.

“I left home when I was seventeen.”

Steve frowns. “Bucky,” he say quietly.

“My dad,” Bucky continues. “He's old fashioned, I guess. Wasn't comfortable with me being gay. So I left, crashed on a friend's couch for a couple months, and eventually moved to New York. I wasn't in my right mind, fell in with a bad crowd, and lost a lot of time to addiction. It was real bad for a long time. And then at twenty-two, I was in an accident.”

He looks down at his arm resting on the table. His sleeves are rolled up to his elbows and the prosthetic left arm catches the light from above, glinting a little.

Steve doesn't look away from his face.

“Motorcycle,” Bucky says. “It was my own fault. I shouldn't have been driving but I did and it cost me my left arm and broke my hip. I spend weeks in the hospital and then months in rehab with physical therapy. It was when I was two months sober that I realized I needed to be somewhere else. So, after getting my prosthetic, I moved here. To find myself and my home.”

“And you did?”

“I did.” Bucky smiles at him. “It took me a while but I did.”

Steve reaches across the table and takes his hand. “I'm glad you did,” he says.

“So am I,” Bucky say and squeezes his hand. “Otherwise I wouldn't have met you.”

Steve frowns at him. “You shouldn't have had to be put through all that though.”

“No,” Bucky says. “But I've made my peace with it. I had to go through some hell to find myself and I'm pretty happy with the outcome. You're just a nice bonus.”

Steve chuckles and says, “You're a pretty nice bonus too, Buck.”

Bucky smiles at him and shifts their hands to intertwine their fingers.

Steve blushes, heart leaping into his throat. He clears his throat and shifts in his seat.

“Did your dad ever come around?” he asks after a minute.

“Eventually,” Bucky says with a one-shouldered shrug. “I don't think he fully accepts it but he invites me over for Hanukkah sometimes. Sometimes other holidays too, once in a while.”

“Do you ever go?”

“Sometimes. But now it's my arm that makes him uncomfortable. I think he blames himself for it a little bit, actually.”

“Well. It was kind of his fault.”

“I used to think that too,” Bucky says with a smile. “But I've been going to therapy for years now and I don't blame him anymore. I know what happened to me isn't on anyone but myself. And the other driver, of course, but I don't blame them either. It sucked and still sucks sometimes but I'm dealing with it.”

Steve smiles at him fondly. “You're amazing,” he tells him.

Bucky clicks his tongue and says, “I'm not.”

“Yes, you are,” Steve says. “You're... so fucking incredible.”

Bucky looks at him from across the table, a blush settling high on his cheeks.

Then he smiles and squeezes Steve's hand in a silent thank you.

Steve squeezes back and hold on.

Neither of them let go for the rest of the evening.  
  


✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰  
  


They don't let go once they leave the restaurant either.

Steve holds onto Bucky's hand, fingers no longer intertwined but palms still locked. Neither of them are bothered by the slight chill in the air that blows by them as they walk down the street in an unhurried pace.

When they paid the bill — split it even though Steve had tried to argue but he lost that argument — Steve had offered to walk him home. He hadn't wanted the night to be over just yet and still doesn't. Bucky had smiled, grabbed his hand, and accepted the offer.

“You know,” Steve says after a while. “Holding another man's hand outside... that's not something I ever thought I'd be doing.”

“Because it was illegal to be gay back in your day?”

“No. Well, yes but also because I denied my attraction to men until after I was defrosted.”

Bucky turns to him, a small frown on his lips. “You did?”

“I did,” Steve says with a nod. “I was an artist so I thought it was just artistic appreciation. My best friend, Arnie. He was gay and I lived in a prominently gay neighborhood, hung out with drag queens, trans people, and gays all the time but I denied any attraction I had to men because... I don't know. It seemed unfair that with everything wrong with me already, couldn't I just love right?”

Bucky squeezes his hand. “You know it was never wrong, right?”

“I know,” Steve say. “Of course I know. People should love whoever the fuck they want to love, be whoever the fuck they want to be. I guess I was just too scared to admit it. Didn't embrace that part of me until I saw acceptance for it. Bisexuality wasn't really talked about much back then anyway so I guess I just assumed it wasn't real because I was still attracted to women.”

“Well. I'm glad the twenty-first century got you out of the closet.”

Steve chuckles quietly and says, “So am I.”

“And for the record,” Bucky says. “Gay people are still afraid to hold hands in public so this,” he lifts their joined hands with a squeeze, “this is a big step for me too.”

Steve looks at him and smiles. “I'm glad we're taking it together,” he says.

“Me too, pal. Me too.”

They reach Bucky's building eventually. When they do, they slow to a stop and Bucky turns around until he's facing Steve. He doesn't let go of his hand so neither does Steve.

“This is me,” Bucky says, a small smile sitting crookedly on his lips.

Steve takes in a breath and hums in acknowledgment.

He's nervous again, all of a sudden. He knows what typically happens at the end of a first date and judging by the almost expectant look in Bucky's eye and the fact that he shuffles half a step into his personal space, Bucky knows and expects the same.

Steve hasn't kissed anyone in a couple years. The last person he did kiss was Sharon and she ducked away the second their lips touched. He barely counts that as a kiss though and he certainly doesn't count the kiss he had with Natasha because he didn't kiss back.

The last time he truly kissed someone and it was enthusiastically consensual for both parties was his last hook up; a woman named Julie who had no idea who the hell he was and he liked that. But that was ages ago and he barely remembers that.

He hasn't had anyone look at him the way Bucky is looking at him now — eyes slightly lidded and flickering from Steve's eyes to his lips and back as he slowly shuffles a bit closer and closer with each breath — for so many years.

So Steve panics and wraps his arms around him in a tight hug.

Bucky doesn't react right away.

When he does, he slowly and almost hesitantly raises his arms and hugs him back. Steve is certain he must be able to feel how fast his heart is racing with how close they're standing, chests pressed together, because that's all Steve can hear.

The hug lasts for too long before Steve finally steps back. He smiles at Bucky then and hopes he doesn't look as panicked as he feels. His face is burning hot and he doubts his facial hair is able to cover it in any way.

“Well,” he says. “See you later.”

Then he turns around and hightails out of there.  
  


✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰  
  


When he gets into his pickup truck, Steve rests his head on the steering wheel and groans at his own cowardliness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> rebloggable post on [tumblr](https://mlmsrogers.tumblr.com/post/184899187973).
> 
> kudos and comments give me life!


	6. Chapter 6

Despite the awkward end to the date, Steve can't get himself to stay away from Bucky for very long so he finds himself parking outside the bakery sometime before noon the next day. But he doesn't go in right away. He sits there in the driver's seat and lets out a slow and nervous breath.

When he'd gotten back to the farm last night, he had called Natasha and told her all about the disaster of an end to the date. Natasha had laughed, nothing but a quick snort before she composed herself but it was enough.

Steve doesn't blame her. The situation is kind of funny but he can't laugh about it yet.

“It's not funny,” Steve had told her.

“It's a little funny,” she'd said.

Steve had sighed and covered his face with his empty hand. “I panicked,” he'd admitted.

“Why?”

“I don't know. I haven't kissed anyone in years and I... I don't wanna disappoint.”

“I'm sure he'd understand.”

“That's not helping, Nat.”

“I'm not trying to help. If you're serious about him, you should be having this conversation with him and not me.”

Steve knows she's right, knew last night too. Which is part of the reason why he's here, parked outside the bakery and trying to will himself free of nerves. Realistically, he knows it will be an easy conversation to have with Bucky but Steve has very limited experience and doesn't know how to do... any of this.

He sits there for another long minute before he takes in a deep breath and gets out.

Marcel is manning the register today. He's serving a customer but still looks over and smiles at Steve when he steps inside. Steve smiles back and steps up to the counter, away from the line. It's not technically cutting and he's done it before but he feels a bit bad about it anyway.

“Hey, Steve,” Marcel greets him after serving the customer.

“Marcel,” Steve greets back with a nod. “Is Bucky in today?”

Marcel nods and says, “He's in the alley out back, taking a break.”

Steve smiles and thanks him then he heads out to the alley.

He finds Bucky there, leaning against the brick wall with his head tilted down a little, pronouncing his slight double chin. There's a cigarette hanging loosely between two of his prosthetic fingers. It's lit but it doesn't look like much of it has been smoked.

Steve stands there and looks at him for a moment, lets himself soak in the quiet beauty of him.

Bucky always looks beautiful, even when he's a mess and covered in flour and dough and frosting. His beauty is like a breath of fresh air, one that almost makes Steve thinks of the first breath he took after coming out of Stark's machine.

Steve wants to look at him forever.

“Those are bad for you, you know,” he calls out after he's been standing there for too long.

Bucky smiles before even lifting his gaze. The smile grows a little wider when he tilts his head back up and turns it to look at Steve, crowfeet appearing by the corners of his eyes like they always do when he smiles like this. He lifts the cigarette to his lips and takes a drag.

“Don't tell me you never smoked,” he says as the smoke leaves his mouth.

“Oh, I did,” Steve says and steps closer. “Used to smoke a lot, actually.”

“Like what?”

“They called it devil's snare. Stramonium, I think it was.”

“Didn't you have asthma?”

“I did,” Steve says and stops in front of Bucky with a shrug. “They told me it would help.”

Bucky smiles at him. “Did it?”

“Not in the slightest,” Steve says.

Bucky laughs and shakes his head. He drops the cigarette from his fingers and stomps it out with his shoe, then he leans off the wall and steps closer to Steve. The sudden closeness makes Steve's heart beat faster and for a second he thinks Bucky might kiss him.

But Bucky doesn't and only smiles at him.

“Hi,” he says.

“Hi,” Steve echoes back.

“You gonna hug me again?”

“Do you want me to?”

Bucky shrugs and says, “Sure.”

Steve steps into his space and hugs him.

Unlike last night, Bucky doesn't hesitate to hug him back. He rests his head on his shoulder and presses himself against him with a quiet little noise. Steve breathes in deeply through his nose and closes his eyes, suddenly breathing much easier.

When they step apart, they don't go far.

“Hi,” Steve says again, a little breathy.

Bucky chuckles. “Hi again.”

“How's your day going?”

“Alright. Saturdays are usually busy but today ain't so bad.”

“That's good.”

Bucky hums in agreement and they both fall quiet.

There's an awkward beat but then Bucky speaks again.

“Just so we're on the same page here,” he says. “Last night _was_ a date, right?”

Steve blinks at him. “Yeah,” he says. “I told you it was.”

“Okay,” Bucky says. “Then why didn't you kiss me at the end?”

Steve looks down at his shoes, face hot with embarrassment. He shrugs at first and mutters something incoherently as he scratches at his beard. But then he takes in a deep breath, sighs, and looks back up at Bucky.

He can't be a coward forever, not if he wants to be selfish for once and take.

“I panicked,” he says. “And I— I wasn't sure if you wanted to.”

It's a lie and they both know it.

Bucky stares at him in disbelief then he huffs and says, “Okay. So we're gonna have better communication from now on.”

Steve nods. “Okay,” he says.

“And at the end of our next date, you're gonna walk me home again and this time, you're gonna kiss me like in all those cheesy romance movies.”

Steve pauses, unable to fight the smile that grows on his face. “Our next date?”

“Yep,” Bucky says and smiles back. “I'm gonna take you out tomorrow.”

“Oh, you're just assuming I'm available?”

“You're retired. You're free anytime.”

Steve rolls his eyes but he's laughing. And Bucky laughs with him.

“Okay,” Steve says. “Tomorrow. Want me to come pick you up again?”

“Nah,” Bucky says. “We're gonna meet somewhere. I'll text you the details.”

“Okay,” Steve says again and goes to say more but he's interrupted when the door to the bakery opens with a whine and a bang.

They both turn to see Marcel leaning out, hand wrapped around the handle and a smile on his lips as soon as his eyes land on them. The smile looks awfully teasing and it's only when Bucky takes half a step back that Steve realizes how close they'd been standing.

His face heats up instantly and he ducks his head in an attempt to hide it.

“Hey, boss,” Marcel calls out. “We're out of cinnamon buns.”

“Right,” Bucky says and clears his throat. “Thank you, Marcel. I'll be right in.”

Marcel looks at them for another moment, then he smiles a little wider and disappears back inside. He leaves the door standing open, probably as a reminder to Bucky that he's needed inside.

Bucky turns to Steve with a smile and says, “Sorry, pal. Duty calls.”

“Of course,” Steve says. “Don't let me distract you from work.”

“Oh, but you are so easy to be distracted by.”

Steve smiles. “Then I supposed I should leave,” he says.

“I suppose you should,” Bucky says.

Steve doesn't. He doesn't move or say goodbye, he just looks at Bucky.

And Bucky looks right back.

“You know,” Bucky says after a pause. “If you had kissed me last night, you could've kissed me again right now.”

Steve stares at him. “You're gonna hold that over my head for a long time, aren't you?”

“I might,” Bucky say with a toothy smile.

Steve groans and turns to walk away, trying and failing to fight a smile.

“Goodbye!” he yells over his shoulder.

“Bye, stupid!” Bucky yells back, laughter in his voice. “See you tomorrow!”

Steve gets back in his pickup with a smile on his lips, his heart pounding for an entirely different reason now.  
  


✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰  
  


This time, he doesn't call Natasha or Sam in a panic. He sends a text to the group about his second date with Bucky and politely declines Natasha's offer to help him again. What he doesn't tell them is that he has no reason to panic about the planning this time because Bucky is the one doing it.

All Steve has to do is pick an outfit and show up. And he can do that.

Bucky sends him a text while Steve is putting another coat of soft brown paint on the porch railing. The cat is laying on the steps next to him, eyes closed and face tilted toward the sun, but he's pretending to ignore it so he doesn't scare it away. He hasn't decided if he wants to keep it or not but he wants to be able to grab it and take it to the vet before he makes a decision.

He's working on it, taking his time with it.

And if the cat decides it's done with him, then that's it.

Steve pauses in his movement when he feels his phone vibrate in his back pocket. He puts the brush down after finishing the motion along the grain of the wood, then he digs out his phone and opens the text.

› From Bucky, _16:14_ : how do you feel about paintball?

He reads it over once or twice before he stands up and walks over to sit down next to the cat on the steps. It notices him approach and gives him a look but Steve pretends it's not even there and keeps his eyes on his phone. The cat accepts his presence and doesn't move.

It makes Steve smiles as he types out a response to Bucky.

‹ To Bucky, _16:15_ : I didn't know there was a place to shoot paintball here.

He doesn't bother putting his phone down and instead watches the bubbles come up as Bucky types.

› From Bucky, _16:15_ : neither did i. i'm throwing ideas at you

‹ To Bucky, _16:15_ : And here I thought you already had an idea.

› From Bucky, _16:16_ : shut up and answer the damn question

Steve thinks about it for a second, chewing on his lips.

‹ To Bucky, _16:16_ : Fine. Never tried it but it looks fun.

› From Bucky, _16:17_ : okay. so not paintball.

‹ To Bucky, _16:17_ : I just said it looks fun!

› From Bucky, _16:17_ : i can feel the hesitation from here, steve

‹ To Bucky, _16:18_ : ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

› From Bucky, _16:18_ : i hate that you know how to do that

Steve smiles at the screen, a quiet chuckle leaving him.

› From Bucky, _16:18_ : what about roller blades?

‹ To Bucky, _16:19_ : Are you Googling date ideas?

› From Bucky, _16:19_ : …... no

Steve laughs, can't help it.

‹ To Bucky, _16:19_ : That's a yes. I've never tried rollerblading but I've got two left feet so.

› From Bucky, _16:20_ : oh really? perfect!

Bucky sends him an address a minute later and tells him to meet him there at six tomorrow. Steve sighs but there's a small smile on his lips when he types out a response.

‹ To Bucky, _16:21_ : I don't know why I like you.

› From Bucky, _16:21_ : ;)

With a huff, Steve stands and puts his phone back in his pocket. He goes back over to his previous spot and crouches down as he picks up the paintbrush. He's barely started painting again when the cat suddenly stands up and walks closer to him before it lays back down.

Steve looks at it and starts thinking about names.  
  


✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰  
  


Steve makes it into town ten minutes to six the next day. He finds the place pretty easily even though the building is tugged away in the outskirts of town. The sign above the entrance doors is big and brightly lit in a neon orange that makes it almost hard to read what it says but the roller blades in the corner are obvious.

Bucky is perched on a ledge outside, one knee tugged up to his chest and his prosthetic arm resting over it. He has his phone in his right hand, thumb sliding over the screen every other second, and he doesn't see Steve park only a couple spots away from him because his attention is fully on whatever is on his phone.

Steve walks up to him with a smile already on his lips, hands in his pockets.

Bucky still doesn't look up. He doesn't even look up when Steve stops no more than a step away from him. Steve drops his gaze to the phone and sees a video of a dog running on the screen. He smiles a little to himself and looks back at Bucky.

He waits a beat, then he clears his throat pointedly and bites back a laugh when Bucky snaps his head up in surprise.

“Steve!” Bucky says, a smile on his face in an instant.

“Hey, Buck,” Steve says. “Watching anything interesting?”

“Shut up,” Bucky says and pockets his phone. “I wasn't expect you for another couple minutes.”

“Yeah, well.” Steve shrugs. “Couldn't wait any longer.”

Bucky smiles at him and Steve gets the sudden urge to kiss him.

He could and he knows Bucky probably wouldn't mind it, though he did say Steve could (and should) kiss him at the end. But he doesn't kiss him. That little panicked voice in the back of his head pokes its head out and whisper nerves into his ear.

“Wanna head inside?” Bucky asks and motions toward the doors.

Steve nods. “Sure,” he says.

The carpet that welcomes them is colorful and a complete eyesore. The rest of the room has more muted colors (blue and red walls, hints of yellow) and the park-like tables put up around the first room look old and used but it gives the place a sense of history.

There's a family sitting by one of the tables, eating fries and greasy burgers; a mom, a dad, three kids all under the age of ten though one looks tall enough to be above. They're loud, the kids especially, but not so loud that it's annoying or too disturbing for the rest.

Steve's eyes move over to the right where he spots the rink. It's large and a handful of people are already skating out there, laughing and stumbling and going backwards too. The 80s music playing overhead drowns out whatever words are being called out but they look like they're having a good time.

It's nice.

His eyes land on Bucky again and he smiles, can't stop it from appearing.

“Going by your smile,” Bucky says, “I'm gonna assume I nailed it.”

Steve chuckles. “Well,” he drawls. “We haven't actually done anything yet.”

“Then let's change that,” Bucky says and grabs his hand.

Bucky rents them two sets of roller blades and then drags him over to the racks to pick out their sizes, though Steve follows willingly so he doesn't have to be dragged. The blades aren't the prettiest things nor are they particularly easy to get on.

Bucky has to help Steve with his (and Steve has to think about baseball when Bucky goes to his knees) and Steve discovers that they aren't comfortable either but that's alright. It's only for a little while and he's sure he'll get used to the slight squeeze around his feet.

Steve doesn't get up once his blades are on though. He remembers having trouble with his balance when he first got out of Stark's machine, when everything about him was bigger and healthy for the first time in his life. It had taken him crashing through a store window and stumbling halfway down the street before he'd been able to run without falling over his own feet.

He has no idea how he's going to do on wheels.

He doubts he'll do well.

“Come on,” Bucky says in front of him, already standing and holding a hand out for him.

Steve looks at his hand then at him. “I'm gonna fall,” he says.

“That's okay,” Bucky says. “I'll catch you.”

“Promise?”

“Always.”

Steve hesitates for another moment before he takes in a deep breath, slides his hand into Bucky's, and lets himself be pulled to his feet.

He wasn't wrong; he does stumble when they get onto the rink and he holds a death grip onto Bucky's hand for too long before he remembers that he isn't like everyone else and his strength is a lot more than the average human being.

“Shit,” he says as he loosens his grip. “I'm sorry.”

“It's okay,” Bucky says though his smile looks a little pained. “You can pay my hospital bills.”

“Bucky,” Steve says— nearly whines, not that he'd ever admit it.

“Steve,” Bucky says with a chuckle. “It's fine, really. Here.”

He twists and moves in front of Steve with his other hand held out too, facing him. Steve looks at it for a moment then he grabs that too, his grip light. Bucky scoots back a couple step and starts pulling Steve along with him as he backs up more and more.

Steve instinctively tightens his grip on Bucky's hands when they start moving and is quick to mumble out another apology. He bends in his knees a little, his feet at an awkward angle below him.

“You're okay,” Bucky says. “I've got you.”

“I'm gonna fall on my ass.”

“Probably.”

Steve shoots him a look.

“You fall and then you get back up. Isn't that your motto?”

“Didn't really think it applied to rollerblading.”

“It does now.”

Steve grumbles something incoherently, then he holds his breath and tries to straighten his legs.

Eventually, he gets the hang of it.

Well. Sort of.

He doesn't fall on his ass. He stops walking like Bambi on ice and, eventually, he doesn't even need to hold onto Bucky's hands to stay upright either. Bucky still sticks close to him though, rolling alongside him for a while until Steve shows that he can move forward and not fall and break his nose.

He's not good at it, far from it. He's clumsy and slow but he doesn't fall.

It turns out to be fun, once he's figured it out. It's not nearly as bad as he thought (and dreaded) it would be. Especially not when Bucky rolls out in front of him and moves backwards as he does a little shimmy of a dance while mouthing along to the music playing overhead.

It's never a song that Steve knows but Bucky seems to know every word, mouthing along to them as he keeps their eyes locked and Steve's attention solely on him.

And not his feet.

Steve nearly trips twice because of that.

He would be annoyed but Bucky laughs so how could he?

“I gotta admit,” Steve says when they're walking out a couple hours later. “That was pretty fun.”

Bucky turns to him with a smile and a quirked brow. “Did you think it wouldn't be?” he asks.

“Well,” Steve says. “I thought spending time with you would be fun because it always is. But I thought rollerblading would be... annoying.”

“Because you thought you'd be terrible at it.”

“I _am_ terrible at it. But it was still fun.”

“Good,” Bucky says and smiles. “Then maybe we can do it again sometime.”

“Not a fucking chance,” Steve says. “I can't do wheels on my feet, Buck. Not gonna happen.”

“How will you ever get better if you don't practice?”

“I'm good with with my feet flat on the ground, thank you.”

Bucky scoffs, though halfheartedly. “You're no fun,” he mutters.

Steve laughs. “Come on. I'll drive you home.”  
  


✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰  
  


Steve knows what's coming the whole drive. The anticipation makes him nervous and his heart starts pounding in his chest, faster and louder the closer they get to their destination. He keeps his grip on the steering wheel tight, squeezing but never too hard. His throat is dry but he laughs and smiles because Bucky is talking about anything but what they both know is coming.

Steve is nervous as all hell but focusing on Bucky and his voice makes it a little easier to push aside. The fact that Bucky is so nonchalant about the whole thing and not making a single comment about Steve's nerves that he knows must be clear on his face— it makes it a little easier, though he's still practically vibrating out of his skin.

It doesn't take long before they make it to Bucky's place. The conversation comes to a natural stop as Steve starts slowing down until the pickup comes to a rolling stop. Bucky is silent now and Steve can't not focus on his nerves again.

He clears his throat, shifts in his seat.

“And here's your stop,” he says without looking at Bucky.

He can feel Bucky's eyes on him. It doesn't make him any less nervous, neither does the fact that Bucky is quiet and not saying a word.

Steve inhales quietly and slowly turns to look at him. He shoots him a smile that he can't even pretend isn't forced, as nervous as he is.

Bucky doesn't smile back.

“You know you don't _have_ to kiss me if you don't want to, right?” he asks then.

“I know,” Steve says and exhales. “I want to though.”

Bucky waits a beat, then he prompts, “But?”

Steve swallows thickly. “I'm nervous,” he admits.

Bucky reaches out and rests his hand on Steve's. “What are you nervous about?”

Steve turns his hand over and intertwines their fingers. The metal of Bucky's prosthetic is cold against his palm but he doesn't mind it. He looks down at their joint hands and watches his own thumb brush over the back of Bucky's.

Then he lifts his gaze and meets Bucky's eye.

“I don't want to disappoint you,” he says in a quiet voice.

Bucky smiles at him. “You won't.”

“I might not be a good kisser.”

“That's okay. We can practice.”

Steve huffs and rolls his eyes but there's a smile on his lips.

Bucky squeezes around his hand. “Wanna walk me to my door?” he asks.

Steve nods and says, “Yes, please.”

They walk to Bucky's front door in silence. Steve keeps his hands stuffed in his pockets and trails after Bucky a step behind him when they make their way up the stairs inside the building. He tries to do some breathing exercises that he learned in group but it doesn't help make him any less nervous.

By the time Bucky stops in front of a door on the third floor and turns to him with a sheepish smile, Steve's palms are sweaty and his face is probably furiously pink. He wants to be suave and calm about it but he can't.

“Steve,” Bucky says. “Take a deep breath.”

Steve does, albeit shakily.

“There you go,” Bucky says. “Relax, pal. It's just a kiss.”

“It's not just a kiss,” Steve says. “It's a kiss with you.”

Bucky looks at him for a long moment then he steps into his space until they're barely an inch apart. Bucky is only a couple inches shorter than Steve but Steve still has to dip his chin a little to look at him properly. Standing like this, the minor height difference is much more obvious.

Bucky's eyes sweep over his face before finally settling on his lips. Steve instinctively licks them and Bucky licks his too before he raises his right hand and places it onto Steve's bicep. Steve's heart does a flip in his chest at the touch, hyper-focused on the man in front of him.

He _wants_.

“I'm gonna kiss you now,” Bucky says in a whisper. “Okay?”

“Okay,” Steve echoes breathlessly.

Bucky squeezes his bicep then he leans in and kisses him.

It's nothing more than a peck, a mere brush of lips that can barely be counted for an actual kiss. But it still sends Steve's heart galloping in his chest, the feeling of Bucky's lips against his own enough to take his breath away.

The peck lasts for no more than a second before Bucky pulls back again. He doesn't go far, his lips ghosting over Steve's when he speaks in a quiet whisper.

“Okay?” he asks.

Steve nods in answer and wordlessly leans in to kiss him again.

It's firmer this time, reciprocated. Steve pulls his hands out of his pockets and cups Bucky's face in them, tilting his head up a little to align their lips better. Bucky hums against his lips and Steve pulls back for only a second to tilt his head before he dives back in and kisses him again.

One kiss becomes two and two becomes three and then Steve loses count. Bucky's lips are soft against his own and he can't get enough of them. He's not nervous anymore. Now he just wants and for once he lets himself be selfish and takes, kisses him over and over again.

Bucky migrates closer to him with each passing kiss. He presses himself against him and his hand slides down Steve's arm until it finds the lapel of his jacket. He grabs it and tugs, as if they could get any closer than they already are. But the tug comes with Bucky parting his lips and Steve doesn't hesitate to take the opportunity and lets the kisses deepen.

When their tongues meet, Bucky lets out a sound close to a moan and Steve stops thinking.

He doesn't know how long they stand there, trading kisses as they make out. It could be a couple minutes or it could ten, twenty, he doesn't know. With Bucky pressed against him like this— clutching onto him and moaning against his lips and desperately trying to pull him closer even though they're already so close— Steve could lose hours and not care.

Time has never matter less than right now.

But eventually, the kissing does come to an end.

Bucky is the one who slows down and Steve can only follow and let it happen even though he never want it to end. He presses one final kiss to Bucky's lips before he pulls back and opens his eyes. Bucky is a mess in his hands; lips wet and red and parted as he breathes and his eyes are hooded, pupils dilated.

Steve licks his lips and listens to his self control.

“That,” Bucky croaks, then clears his throat. “Yeah. Let's practice that some more.”

Steve huffs and smiles. He brushes a thumb over Bucky's cheekbone, his cheeks warm against his palms. He doesn't want to let go of him but he does and puts his hands on Bucky's shoulders instead.

“Might not need that much practice after all,” he says.

Bucky quirks a brow at him. “Are you turning down an offer to make out with me more?”

“You know what. Maybe I do need practice. A lot of it.”

Bucky laughs. He grabs onto Steve's lapels with both hands and tugs him in for one more kiss. Steve doesn't hesitate to kiss back but keeps his hands where they are; resting on Bucky's shoulders and not grabbing.

The kiss is short and when they part, Bucky smiles at him.

“I'm looking forward to it,” he says.

“So am I.”

“And for the record, you are definitely not a bad kisser.”

“Yeah?”

Bucky hums in affirmation and digs his teeth into his bottom lip.

Steve's eyes drop to it involuntarily.

“I can't persuade you into coming inside with me,” Bucky says. “Can I?”

Steve hesitates. On one hand, he would love nothing more than to spend hours kissing Bucky and maybe more.

But on the other...

“I'm sorry,” he whispers quietly and smiles apologetically.

“Don't be,” Bucky says and smiles at him. “We don't have to rush this.”

“It's not that.”

“Then what is it?”

“I don't put out on a first date.”

“Who said anything about putting out?” Bucky asks and grins at him.

Steve rolls his eyes and takes his hands off Bucky.

“Get your mind outta the gutter, Rogers,” Bucky says, laughing.

“Goodbye, Bucky,” Steve says and takes a step back.

Bucky doesn't let him. He tugs at his jacket to pull him back in and plants a firm kiss on his lips.

Steve leans into it, despite himself.

“Bye, Steve,” Bucky whispers against his lips after.

Then he lets go, steps back, and lets himself into his apartment.

Steve is left to stand in the hallway, lips tingling and heart pounding.  
  


✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰  
  


The cat is sitting on the porch when he comes back to the farm.

Steve turns the engine off once he's parked and looks at it. It's laying by the steps, head up and eyes on him. After a minute, he gets out of the pickup and walks over to sit down next to it. The cat doesn't move even though he's closer now than he's ever been.

It just turns its head to look at him and blinks lazily up at him.

“How's your day been?” he asks it.

The cat tilts its head.

“Mine's been really good,” he says, “thank you.”

The cat lets out a quiet and squeaky meow.

Steve smiles and huffs out a laugh. Slowly, he holds out a hand. When the cat doesn't move away or flinch, he reaches out and puts his hand on its back. He pets it and, surprisingly, it closes its eyes and purrs at the touch.

It's the first happy sound he's heard from her. He smiles down at it.

“Yeah,” he says quietly, his hand stroking along its back. “I guess you're not going anywhere.”

The cat meows in agreement.  
  


✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰  
  


Things are good, after that.

The cat starts coming back more often than not but Steve still doesn't grab it. He wants to but it's not often it will let him get close enough to pet it and he doesn't want to scare it away so he doesn't. Instead, he waits. He stops calling it 'the cat' and starts calling it Dusk.

Bucky takes him on another date not long after. He takes him to the art gallery in the middle of town and while it admittedly is rather small and lacking in actual art pieces, Steve still has a good time. He hasn't been around art in so long and experiencing it like this is almost like rediscovering his love for it all over again.

Steve ends up kissing Bucky senseless against his pickup truck afterward. Bucky doesn't invite him back to his place this time even though Steve can feel how the kissing and touching is affecting him, pressed against his thigh.

Not that it isn't also affecting Steve, oh no. Steve is damn near rock solid.

But Bucky doesn't invite him inside and Steve is thankful for that. He doesn't want to have to give him a no again because he's not ready for the next step. Not yet, anyway.

Things are good for once. Steve has a cat and a guy who makes him happy and he's not fighting.

He doesn't remember the last time things were _good_. He doesn't remember the last time his life was this quiet and peaceful, not a fight to be fought anywhere in sight. He doesn't remember what it's like to have his knuckles be so unscathed, to not be recovering from an injury constantly. He's still sore but that's from working on repairing the farm and not from throwing his body at enemies.

Things are good for weeks on end.

And then aliens attack in Europe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> rebloggable post on [tumblr](https://mlmsrogers.tumblr.com/post/184899187973).
> 
> kudos and comments give me life!


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> content warning: there's a non-descriptive incident of accidental self harming. if you want to skip it, don't read until _“You're human, Steve,” Bucky says._

Steve is making dinner when he hears about it. The television is on in the living room but he's only listening with half an ear. It's mostly for background noise, the voices of the news anchor making the house feel a little less empty and lonely.

He's chopping a washed carrot when the news anchor says something that catches his attention.

“Breaking news,” she says urgently.

With a frown, he turns off the stove to calm the boiling water in the pot and tunes fully into the program. He puts down the knife and dries off his hands with the towel he's got thrown over his shoulder, then he makes his way into the living room.

The frown only deepens as he listens to the anchor.

“— still unknown,” she's saying. “Information is sparse and the full extend of the damage so far is unknown as well. Newsfront correspondent Jackson Norris arrived at the scene in Belgium moments ago and he joins us now. Jackson?”

Jackson responds from a gritty, crackly microphone. He's panting and there are explosions and screams and obvious sounds of horror that only comes from a battlefield in the background on his end.

Steve doesn't hear a single thing he says because they show footage on screen at the same time.

It looks awful. There's destruction everywhere; buildings are crumbling and leaving clouds of dust and dirt and smoke in its wake. All surroundings are darkened by the dust and soot, flames standing terrifyingly high in multiple places. Civilians are still on scene, running anywhere in search of safety.

Steve clenches his fists and his jaw, his heart pounding.

The camera shifts its angle and the enemy gets caught on screen. Aliens. Big and beastly and a sickeningly pale green. Some have wings while others have weapons twice the size of their own arms. They look awful and something straight out of a horror movie or a kid's horrible nightmare.

“Several witnesses have reported seeing the Nomads here and with powered back-up.”

Steve tunes back in at the mention of the Nomads.

“The Nomads haven't been active in months,” the anchor says. “Their last reported location was in Spain.”

“I can't confirm this report,” Jackson says. “All they said was that they're here. And missing one.”

“Missing one?”

“There's only two.”

Steve holds his breath, guilt stabbing at his gut.

“Now,” the anchor continues. “You mentioned powered back-up. What are we talking about?”

“Captain Danvers,” Jackson says. “Witnesses have reported seeing her fighting the aliens.”

“And there have so far been no sign of the Avengers.”

“That's right.”

Steve moves without thought.

He marches into the bedroom and picks up his phone, ripping it out of its charger. He types out Sam's number and hits call but it goes straight to voicemail. Natasha's does too, as do Fury's and Maria's and Carol's and Wanda's. T'Challa is busy with his own duties and Nakia doesn't own a phone but for a moment, Steve wishes she did.

He swears to himself and throws the phone onto the bed. He still has weapons and the uniform he wore when he was part of the Nomads but when he looks over at the closet where he has it all boxed up and stored away, he feels a familiar dread settle in his stomach and there's a sudden weight on his shoulders that he hasn't felt in months now.

He retired for a reason. But he still feels this immense guilt for not being there.

With his hands clenched so tight that his fingernails dig into his palms, Steve walks back into the living room. Footage from the scene is playing; he sees Carol flying powered fists first into an enemy's chest, sending it crashing backwards and then into the ground with a truly horrible screech.

Steve sits down on the couch, eyes glued to the screen.

He doesn't move for hours.  
  


✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰  
  


He's still sitting there when there' a knock on the front door. He hasn't moved and has no idea how much time has passed. He knows the sun went down at some point but when he blinks and very briefly comes back to reality, the living room is lit up by sunlight.

The news are still rolling, showing footage and keeping viewers updated on the progressively worse situation happening in Europe. Steve hasn't looked away from the screen. Not even once. He _can't_ look away, not when he knows his family is there and he can do nothing to help.

There's a knock on the door again but it's more urgent this time.

“It's open!” he calls out, his throat croaky and voice rough.

The door opens and someone comes walking in. He doesn't know who but there are only so many people who even know where he lives and would visit him and most of them are in Europe being Earth's defenders.

That leaves only one person.

“Hey,” Bucky says from the doorway.

“Hey,” Steve echoes but doesn't look away.

“Heard about...” Bucky trails off but he doesn't have to finish. “How're you holding up?”

“Fine,” Steve says. It's a lie.

Bucky falls quiet. He doesn't say anything for a bit, then he walks over to him. He sits down next to him on the couch, close enough that Steve can see him in his peripheral vision but still with some distance between them.

Breathing room.

On the screen, Sam comes flying out of a cloud of smoke with a kid who can't be older than ten in his arms. The kid is alive and so is Sam but they're both banged up and hurt and covered in dust and dirt and alien ooze and something that's most likely blood.

The camera captures the moment from far away and though it's pixelated when it zooms, Steve still knows it's Sam. He knows the way he moves; gliding through the air and carrying his wings like they're an extension of himself. He would know his best friend anywhere.

And he swallows up any footage that shows him alive.

“How long have you been sitting here?” Bucky asks quietly after a few minutes.

“What time is it?” Steve asks.

“Just past three pm.”

“Twenty hours, apparently.”

Bucky doesn't respond. He grabs the remote on the table and turns off the television.

“I was watching that,” Steve says but he doesn't move.

“No,” Bucky says. “You were spiraling.”

Steve blinks a couple times, then he finally looks at him. “I'm fine,” he says.

Bucky gives him a look, obviously not believing him.

Steve doesn't blame him. He wouldn't believe himself either. He never was good at lying, not face to face where he can't hide his face and body language. It's harder to lie face to face, especially when he doesn't have the energy to hide.

Bucky hold out his hand and says, “Let me see your hand.”

Steve glances down at it then back at him. “Which one?”

“Either.”

Steve stares at him. His hands are still clenched into fists and he knows what it's going to look like if he opens them. It won't be pretty. He swallows thickly and lets out a breath.

“I can't do this,” he whispers in a raspy voice.

“Start small,” Bucky says. “One step at a time. Step one, unclench your fists.”

Steve hesitates for a minute but then he does. His fingers are stiff and his palms throb.

He doesn't look down at them, not even when Bucky grabs both and pulls them into his own. The cool metal of Bucky's prosthetic soothes the pain in Steve's right hand and Steve releases a heavy breath, sagging a little where he sits.

“There we go,” Bucky says quietly. “That's much better. Right?”

Steve nods. “How bad is it?” he asks.

Bucky looks down and turns his hands over. His face says it all. “Well,” he says. “You'll heal.”

“That's not what I asked.”

“If it wasn't because I knew it'd be healed in a couple hours, I'd grab your emergency kit.”

“So... not great.”

“Not great.”

“Great,” Steve mutters and pulls his hands back to himself. Bucky lets him.

“You gonna tell me the truth now?” Bucky asks.

Steve lifts a brow in a silent question.

“How are you holding up?”

“Not well,” he admits.

“Flashbacks?”

“No. Guilt.”

Bucky frowns. “Guilt?”

“Guilt. For not being there with them.”

Bucky looks at him quietly, then he asks, “Do you miss it?”

“Didn't think I did.”

“But you do.”

“Maybe.” Steve pauses. “I miss... I guess I miss knowing I was doing something good. That I was helping. I miss...”

“What?” Bucky asks when Steve cuts himself off.

“I miss... fuck, Bucky. I miss fighting. That's the only way I've ever known how to help. I see a problem, I fight it. I don't know how to do anything else. Fighting is all I've ever known. And when I see something like this happen... I don't know. Maybe I made a mistake.”

“You didn't.”

“How do you know?”

“Because you didn't move for twenty hours and you hurt yourself while watching the news.”

Steve blinks, then looks down at his hands.

Yeah. They don't look great.

“You're human, Steve,” Bucky says. “You can't carry the weight of the world on your shoulders and you can't sacrifice your own sanity for it. Not anymore. It's not healthy and you've done enough. Let yourself have some goddamn rest and peace. You've earned it.”

“Have I?” Steve asks quietly and looks at him.

“Yes,” Bucky says firmly. “You've fought for too many years and if you go pick one more fight...”

He trails off and Steve's face drops when he realizes where he's going. Bucky isn't wrong either; if Steve were to pick one last fight, it would most likely be his last and there would be no peaceful life for him afterward.

He wouldn't be walking away from that fight.

Hell, he was lucky he walked away from fighting Thanos.

“The world isn't done with you, Steve,” Bucky says. “Sam, Natasha... me. We still need you. Alive.”

Steve looks at him for a moment. “Okay,” he whispers then.

“Okay,” Bucky echoes just as quiet.

Steve slides his messy hand into Bucky's right and Bucky squeezes him tight.

They don't move for a long while.  
  


✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰  
  


Bucky stays with him.

It takes a while but he eventually manages to get Steve off the couch and relocated into the kitchen. The abandoned half-made dinner from the night before still sits where it was left. It's gone cold and is unusable now so Bucky throws it out and makes something else with whatever is in the fridge.

Steve helps him even though Bucky tries to make him sit down. But Steve can't sit still, not now, and it doesn't take much to make Bucky give in and accept his help. He only has to say his name and give him a near pleading look and Bucky seems to understand what he needs, just like that.

They eat and Bucky confiscates his phone when Steve tries to check the news.

“Stop,” he tells him. “Give yourself at least an hour without it.”

“But—”

“No. One more word and it'll be two hours.”

Steve scoffs but says nothing.

He gets to check the news an hour later after they've cleaned up in the kitchen. Things have escalated by then and the kill count is unknown. Everything is unknown because the center of the fight is nothing but a huge cloud of dark smoke and dust flickering with lightning and chaos and no one knows anything.

He doesn't realize he's shaking until the phone gets taken out of his hand.

This isn't the first time he has a panic attack. He's had them plenty times before. But it is the first time where he can't sprint to the gym down the block and punch holes in a few punching bags until his knuckles hurt and bleed.

He can't even punch the wall although he tries but Bucky is there, holding his hands with a surprising amount of strength. Bucky talks him back down and holds him until he stops trying to punch and starts crying instead.

Bucky ends up staying the night. They don't sleep much.  
  


✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰  
  


Time passes and Steve learns to live with the news periodically in the background without losing his mind over it or spiraling out of control. Bucky sends him news articles to keep him up to date on the situation too. He sends him reminders to eat and sleep and take a break and go to the weekly group session in town, even though Steve knows he's busy at the bakery.

He doesn't deserve Bucky, honestly. But Bucky keeps coming back.

The situation in Europe gets worse and Steve works himself to the bone with the farm. It gets worse and then it gets better but Steve doesn't stop working because he can't. If he stops working, he will only get stuck in his own head and spiral again and then who knows what will happen.

Nothing good, most likely.

Eventually the team wins and the few remaining aliens flee off the planet.

Eventually the news start reporting on other things again.

Eventually Steve can breathe a little easier.

Eventually, two weeks after the battle, Steve gets visitors.  
  


✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰  
  


It's late when the knock comes.

Steve is spread out on the couch with a book propped up against his bend knees and a cup resting on his stomach. There's tea in it, still steaming even though he brewed it almost ten minutes ago. It's one that Bucky bought him last week because he thought it might help him calm down.

He wasn't wrong. It's good and Steve is learning how to relax with it.

Reading definitely helps and brings him somewhere else for a bit.

The knock brings him back into reality though. He looks up from the page he's on, cutting himself off in the middle of a sentence. It's dark outside and he knows that Bucky went to bed well over an hour ago so it can't be him knocking on his door.

With a frown, Steve puts the book and cup down on the table and heads to the door.

Sam and Natasha stand on the other side.

Both are smiling when the door opens wide and both look tired, banged up, and injured. Sam's left arm is in a cast and sling, his lip is split, and bruises are scattered on him. Natasha isn't much better. She has a healing wound the size of her fist on her forehead and bandage poking out of her shirt's neckline.

Steve looks them over. Then he says, “This seems familiar.”

Sam huffs. “I don't remember you guys looking quite as bad,” he says.

“We had a building dropped on us,” Steve says.

“We've been fighting aliens for weeks,” Natasha says.

Steve pauses. “Okay,” he says. “You guys win.”

“Nice,” Sam says. “Is the prize a hot meal? 'Cause I'm starving.”

Steve smiles at them and steps aside to let them in.

Sam and Natasha make themselves right at home in the living room. Sam stretches out on the couch where Steve had been before and Natasha curls up on the arm chair next to it with Steve's abandoned cup of tea in her hands. She drinks it and Steve finds that he doesn't care.

Meanwhile, Steve goes into the kitchen to get them something to eat. He hears the television get turned on before he's even opened the fridge and he smiles a little to himself when he hears them settle on something that sounds an awful lot like a cartoon show.

When he returns to the living room, it's with two bowls of minute noodles in his hands. He gives a bowl to each of them and then nudges at Sam's legs on the couch. Sam moves them, bending his knees to make room, and Steve sits down with a sigh.

He lets the two eat about half their bowls before he speaks.

“Everything good?” he asks.

“Getting there,” Natasha says with a one-shouldered shrug.

“They're still putting out fires and cleaning up,” Sam says. “The damages are... not good.”

“Casualties?” Steve asks.

Sam is quiet for a beat. “Let's not go there,” he says.

“Okay,” Steve agrees easily.

A silence falls over them.

Natasha finishes her bowl of noodles first and when it's empty, she leans over to place it on the table before she settles back into her previous position with her legs thrown over one of the chair's arms and her back resting against the other. It doesn't look entirely comfortable but she seems content.

Steve watches the cartoon on the television for a minute or two then he looks at Sam.

“You could've called me,” he says.

“You're retired,” Sam says, as if he needs the reminder.

“Doesn't matter.”

“Yes, it does.”

“No.”

Sam looks at him. “Why?” he asks.

“Because—”

_Because I spiraled when I heard the news._

_Because it kills me that all I can do is watch and I feel guilty for doing nothing when I know I could do something._

_Because I don't know how to live without fighting for it._

_Because you two are all the family I have left and I don't know what I'd do without you._

_Because I wasn't meant to be an audience, I was meant to be there with you._

_Because I miss you._

“Because,” Steve says and doesn't continue.

“We can handle it,” Natasha says. “And we did.”

Steve sighs and looks down at his hands.

“You said you were done fighting.”

“I am.”

“Then act like it.”

“I can't just ignore when the world needs help.”

“Did the world end?” Sam asks a little sharply.

Steve exhales. “I didn't mean—”

“Yes, you did,” Sam says, cutting him off. “You've got a lot of guilt, man. Get therapy for it. Don't take it out on us and make it sound like we're not capable of saving the world without you. Clearly, we are.”

“I know you are,” Steve says. “I'm sorry. I didn't mean it like that.”

“I know. Think before you speak next time.”

Steve nods and reaches out to put a hand on Sam's knee.

Sam smiles at him and nods back, silently forgiving him.

“Do you miss it?” Natasha asks then.

“Sometimes,” Steve says. “Sometimes I wonder if the world isn't done with Captain America yet.”

“You haven't been Cap in a while.”

“No but people knew it was me.”

“Sure. We didn't exactly get new outfits, just altered them a little.”

Steve chuckles quietly and says, “I still have it.”

“Wanna take it for a spin?” Natasha asks, a glint in her eye.

Steve considers it for a moment. “Nah,” he says. “The world may not be done with Cap but I am.”

“But how will the world have Cap without you?”

“Cap is a mask and a shield,” Steve says and looks at Sam. “It doesn't have to be me.”

“You're right,” Natasha says and follows his eyes. “It doesn't have to be you.”

Sam looks up from his bowl and looks between the two for a minute, eyes flickering between them. He turns to look behind where he's sitting then whips back around and points to himself.

“Me?” he asks. “No. No, no. No. Absolutely not. No. Steve, no.”

“Sam,” Steve says. “I know it's a big responsibility but you're the right person for it.”

Sam looks at him, mouth open but no words come out. Then he closes his mouth with a _snap_ and slumps back against the arm of the couch. He's quiet for a minute, mulling it over.

Steve doesn't rush him.

“You don't have the shield anymore,” Sam says.

Steve looks at Natasha and Natasha looks back.

They share a look, then she shrugs.

“We can get it,” she says.

“And Cap is more than just a shield, Sam,” Steve says. “He's a symbol.”

“What am I supposed to do?” Sam asks. “Slap the star on my uniform and call myself Captain America?”

“Yes.”

Sam exhales heavily. “You're asking for a lot,” he says.

“I'm not asking. I'm offering. You don't have to take the title if you don't want to.”

Sam chews on his lip, then he asks, “Can I sleep on it?”

“Of course,” Steve says with a nod. “Take all the time you need.”

Sam nods and looks back into his bowl. He doesn't say anything.

They put on a movie when the silence has carried on for too long. It's something lighthearted and fun that they can turn their brains off for, something Steve thinks those two at least need. Steve doesn't understand the plot and some of the jokes go right over his head but it's still enjoyable and he finds himself chuckling alongside Natasha.

Sam isn't paying attention. Steve knows he isn't.

He doesn't force him either.  
  


✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰  
  


Sam and Natasha go to bed eventually. Both spare bedrooms have a bed in them now, decent sized so they could easily fit two people each. Sam takes one and Natasha takes the other. They're both passed out the second they fall into bed and their quiet snores filter out from their ajar doors.

Steve stays up a little longer though it's not long before he crawls into bed as well. He settles down with a pillow propped up against the wall to keep himself upright a bit. He has his phone in hand and he stares at the screen for a couple minutes before he takes in a breath and types out a message.

‹ To Bucky, _23:48_ : Heads up. I won't be around for a couple days.

He doesn't expect a reply because he knows Bucky has been asleep for hours already but not even three minutes pass before his phone buzzes with a new message. With a frown, Steve unlocks his phone again and opens it.

› From Bucky, _23:51_ : you okay?

‹ To Bucky, _23:51_ : Why are you awake?

› From Bucky, _23:52_ : answer the question, steve

Steve sighs.

‹ To Bucky, _23:53_ : I'm fine. Might potentially commit a crime.

Predictably, his phone rings a second later.

“Why are you awake?” he answers in lieu of greeting.

“Why are you committing a crime?” Bucky throws back.

“Because someone has something that doesn't belong to them.”

Bucky sighs, exasperated. “What are you stealing, Steve?”

“My— Cap's shield.” It's not his anymore.

Bucky is quiet for a beat. “I thought you retired,” he says then.

“I did,” Steve says. “It's not for me.”

“Then who's it for?”

“Sam.”

“Sam.”

“Wilson. Falcon.”

“I know who Sam is. Why are you stealing the shield for him?”

“Because I want him to be Captain America.”

“And he can't do it himself?”

“Sure but...” Steve shrugs, though Bucky can't see. “I want to do it.”

Bucky sighs heavily, his sigh turning into a groan toward the end.

Steve can't see him but he imagines him pinching the bridge of his nose like he does when he's annoyed. Steve has seen it happen a couple times before, over the past months.

“This is it,” Bucky says. “You're officially the dumbest boyfriend I've ever had.”

Steve pauses, blinks. A smile stretches across his lips, wide and toothy, and his cheeks heat up with a blush while his heart does funny flips in his chest.

_Boyfriend_.

“Why did you get so quiet all of a sudden?” Bucky asks him.

“You called me your boyfriend,” Steve says.

“Well, I mean... aren't you?”

“I'd like to be.”

“Cool.” Steve can hear his smile. “Then you are.”

“Cool,” Steve repeats, a little breathless.

“So, uh.” Bucky clears his throat. “Good luck being a thief and all.”

“Thanks, Buck,” Steve says and smiles. “I'll text you when I'm back.”

“Yeah, please do.”

“I will.”  
  


✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰  
  


They pick up Sharon in New York. She meets them in the dead of night out on the quiet streets with a duffelbag filled with Natasha's gear. Steve blinks the headlights twice to catch her attention and only stops the car for long enough to let her get into the backseat and then he gets back on the road and drives.

“Good to see you again, Steve,” Sharon says after handing the bag to Natasha who's sitting in the seat next her.

“You too, Sharon,” Steve says and smiles at her in the rear-view mirror.

“Didn't think you'd be going on a mission again.”

“Honestly? Neither did I.”

“It's quite the last mission too.”

“Yeah. Better than Thanos though.”

“Good point. But no Sam?”

Steve shakes his head and says, “He's still recovering from the last fight.”

“Ah,” Sharon says and doesn't ask further.

Sam _is_ still recovering from their last fight. He decided to stay behind at the farm with that excuse and it's true but Steve also knows he doesn't want to be a part of this mission because he hasn't made up his mind about whether or not he's gonna accept the thing they're stealing yet.

Steve didn't argue with him and decided to give him some time alone to think.

“So,” Natasha says, hands in the bag. “You got the coordinates?”

Sharon nods and gives them to Steve.

The Stark facility is easy to find with her directions. Steve parks the car a ways away, hidden and out of sight from the agents standing guard at the front entrance. Natasha and Sharon, now both fully decked out with their gear, leave the car and run off to sneak into the building but Steve stays behind.

As much as he wants to go with them, he can't. He needs to get used to not helping but the least he can do is be the get-away driver. It's his final mission (and for real, this time) but that doesn't mean he has to be a part of the fighting.

He waits for maybe an hour before he sees Sharon come running back through the treeline. Natasha is behind her, carrying the shield strapped to her arm and her head turned to look over her shoulder and make sure they're not being followed. They're not, luckily.

Sharon signals for him to turn on the engine when they get nearer. Steve does and the second they hop into the backseat again, he drives off and leaves New York behind.

It feels like a chapter in his life being closed.

And it feels good.  
  


✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰  
  


Steve wakes up in his own bed a couple days later. It's still dark out but he feels rested enough so he gets out of bed. He leaves the bedroom on quiet feet after stepping into a pair of sweatpants and throwing on a cardigan though he leaves it unzipped.

When he reaches the living room, however, he freezes mid-step and pauses.

Sam is sitting on the couch. The shield is laying on the table where they had left it the night before after they'd made it back to the farm. Sam is staring at it, a frown on his lips and his hands folded between his spread knees.

Steve looks at him for a moment, then he walks over and sits down next to him.

He doesn't say anything. Instead, he waits for Sam to speak first.

“I went into town while you guys were gone,” Sam says eventually.

Steve hums in acknowledgment but says nothing.

“Met your, uh. Bucky.”

Steve looks at him. “And?” he asks.

“He seems like a nice guy,” Sam says. “ _Great_ baker. I approve.”

Steve smiles and says, “Thank you.”

Sam hums noncommittally.

He doesn't say anything after so Steve doesn't either.

“If I say yes,” Sam asks after a couple minutes, “what does that mean?”

“Whatever you want it to mean,” Steve says. “It can mean you'll be Captain America or it can mean nothing. The shield is yours if you want it but you don't have to use it. You can just keep it safe until someone else is ready to pick it up if you aren't.”

“And if I am?”

“Then I can't wait to see you in battle with it.”

Sam huffs, a smile tugging at his lips. “It's a lot of responsibility,” he says.

“I know. I trust you.”

Sam inhales deeply then he nods, as if coming to a final decision.

“Okay,” he says on an exhale. “Okay. I'll take the shield. Might not use it but... I'll take it.”

Steve smiles at him. “I knew you would.”

Sam smiles back, sitting up a little straighter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> rebloggable post on [tumblr](https://mlmsrogers.tumblr.com/post/184899187973).
> 
> kudos and comments give me life!


	8. Chapter 8

The first time Steve sees the new Captain America in action is well over a month later.

Bucky is staying over when it happens. They're on the couch in the living room and whatever is playing on the television was forgotten the second Bucky put his hand high on Steve's thigh. Steve has him laid out on the couch now, legs spread and himself settled between them and they kiss and kiss, hands wandering.

Bucky makes a noise against his lips and Steve's hips move on their own accord; bucking and grinding down against Bucky. Bucky tightens his grip on the back of Steve's shirt at the movement, spreading his legs a little wider, and Steve does it again but intentionally this time while shoving his tongue into Bucky's mouth.

It's then that the news anchor on screen catches his attention.

“— Captain America's shield,” he's saying.

Steve pulls back and looks at the television.

There's shaky footage playing, capturing a man running through a field toward a group of bulky white men with guns gathered around a couple parked vehicles. It's dark and grainy but the red, white, and blue of the shield strapped to the running man's left arm is unmistakable.

“Is that Sam?” he hears Bucky ask below him.

“Yeah,” Steve says with a smile on his lips. “Looks like it.”

Steve sits up and Bucky follows. Despite their previous making out, they both sit and watch as Sam plows through the men while using the shield in ways similar to how Steve did but still so much like Sam. He uses it much like he does his wings; an extension of himself.

He looks amazing. A natural.

Someone is shooting bullets and arrows from a distance but Steve can only look at Sam and watch him fight the men one by one, his grip on the shield tight and his wings extending and retracting when he needs them to.

Eventually, the men get taken down and the screen cuts away to the anchors.

And Steve can't stop smiling, pride filling his chest.

“So,” Bucky says after a minute. “The world's got a new Captain America.”

“It does,” Steve says.

“You okay with that?”

Steve turns to him, brows furrowed. “Why wouldn't I be?” he asks.

“I don't know,” Bucky says with a shrug. “'s why I asked.”

Steve thinks about it for a second.

“I was Cap when the world needed me to be,” he says. “But the world has changed and it's time for Cap to change with it. Sam deserves this. He embodies what Captain America is supposed to be and he's gonna be great. That chapter... it's over for me. And I'm okay with that. Feels... a bit easier to breathe.”

“Good,” Bucky says. “I never much liked Cap anyway.”

Steve looks at him, a disbelieving smile on his lips. “That's a lie,” he says.

“Maybe,” Bucky says and leans closer. “But I prefer this Steve.”

Steve hums and drops his eyes to Bucky's lips. “That so?” he asks quietly.

Bucky hums in affirmation and reaches up with his right hand to stroke Steve's bearded jaw.

Steve leans into his hand, shifting a little closer and putting his hand on Bucky's thigh.

“Wanna go back to making out?” Bucky asks in a whisper.

Steve doesn't answer. He blindly grabs the remote and turns off the television, then he pushes Bucky onto his back on the cushions and leans over him. Bucky laughs though not for long before Steve shuts him up with a kiss.  
  


✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰  
  


Time passes.

Steve works on the farm and starts considering it _his_ rather than _the_ farm. It isn't home yet but it feels like a place that could eventually be that for him. More and more each day, it feels like it. He wouldn't mind growing old here, he thinks, if the serum will ever let him age and turn gray.

He wouldn't mind waking up to the quiet nature around him and spend hours outside under the warm sun.

He wouldn't mind that one bit.

It's the quiet life that he never thought he would get or even want. It isn't home because he hasn't found that something that makes it feel like that and not just the fixer-upper and almost work that is has been so far. He hasn't found the purpose of it yet.

But he's starting to feel confident that he will, one day.

What helps is Dusk.

One early morning when Steve comes out with the usual can of tuna, it comes right up to him and meows. It's not as skinny anymore and has started to clean itself so it's a little less dirty too, though it could still probably need a decent and thorough grooming.

“Morning,” he greets it and drops to a crouch to put the can down.

Dusk moves forward but not to go for the food. Instead, it lifts itself up on its back paws and puts its front on Steve's knees. It looks up at him and meows and when he strokes a hand down along its back, it purrs and leans into his touch.

Dusk has never been affectionate before so Steve is shocked to see it act like this but happy to have earned its trust nonetheless. He smiles at it and, very slowly and carefully, he grabs it and lifts it as he stands back upright. Dusk lets him and immediately headbutts his chin, rubbing against his beard with a purr.

“Okay,” Steve says. “I guess you're mine now, huh?”

Dusk meows in reply.  
  


✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰  
  


Steve takes it to the vet.

The vet tells him it's a girl, maybe two or three years old, and surprisingly healthy for a cat who has most likely been a stray all her life. She gets a thorough cleaning (which she is not a fan of at all) and Steve signs some papers to officially adopt her.  
  


✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰  
  


Dusk makes herself right at home back at the farmhouse. She strolls inside like she owns the place and starts exploring before Steve has even gotten out of his shoes. She's curious and unhurried and Steve watches her from a distance.

It's when she strolls into the kitchen and bats at the towels hanging on the wall next to the fridge that he starts to panic a little, the reality of the situation suddenly kicking in.

He calls Bucky.

“Hello?” Bucky says after the answering click.

“Buck,” Steve says, eyes glued to Dusk. “How do you take care of a cat?”

There's a beat on the other end. “What?”

Steve blinks and takes his eyes off Dusk to pay attention to Bucky instead.

His voice sounds rough, gravely, like he's just woken up. Steve can hear movement on the other end of the line and it sounds suspiciously like sheets and covers.

He glances at the clock on the wall. It reads nine am.

“Were you asleep?” Steve asks.

“Shut up,” Bucky says with a huff. “I'm taking a day off.”

“Oh.” _Shit_. “I'm sorry.”

“'s nothing,” Bucky says. “What's this about a cat?”

Steve looks back over at Dusk. She's moved on from the towels and has started exploring the rest of the place a little more but he can still see her. She's hopping onto the couch, tail raised high. Steve watches her, leans against the kitchen island, and sighs.

“I might have adopted a cat.”

“Seriously?” Bucky sounds more awake suddenly.

“Yeah,” Steve says. “Remember the stray cat that started showing up once in a while?”

“I remember you've told me about it, yeah.”

“I took it to the vet this morning.”

“'bout time.”

“It's a girl. I named her and, well. I guess she's my responsibility now.”

“What did you name her?”

“Dusk.”

Bucky snorts. “That's a stupid name,” he says. “I love it.”

“Thank you,” Steve says and smiles.

“Alright,” Bucky says and shifts around audibly. “Here's what you're gonna do. First, you're gonna send me a picture of Dusk, then you're gonna let her get settled by herself and come meet me in town. We're gonna get that cat all the things she needs.”

“Buck,” Steve protests. “I don't wanna bother you on your day off.”

“You're not,” Bucky says. “I wouldn't be offering my help if I didn't want to. I'm a grown man.”

Steve lets out a soft huff but doesn't protest further.

“Meet me by our coffee shop,” Bucky says. “I expect coffee and something to eat.”

Steve flushes at the _our_ and says, “You got it.”

“Oh and I'm gonna wear those pants you like so much.”

“I'm getting you the most expensive pastry on the menu.”

“You're ridiculous.”  
  


✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰  
  


Steve leaves Dusk on her own and drives into town. He parks a little down the street from the— _his and Bucky's_ coffee shop and goes in to get Bucky's usual coffee order and a pastry. He comes here regularly and a couple baristas know him by now. Not by name but they know who he is.

With the coffee and pastry in hand, he steps back out onto the street and waits.

He doesn't have to wait long.

It's only a few minutes after he's stepped out that he sees Bucky come walking down the sidewalk on the other side of the street. He's dressed casually with those pants that hug his legs and ass so nicely, a dark hooded sweatshirt, and a light jacket thrown over. His hair is as messy as Steve was expecting it to be and Steve wants to run his fingers through it and fix it for him.

Bucky spots him about the same time that Steve does. He smiles and raises his right hand in greeting, his left stuffed into his pocket. He crosses the street after looking both ways and Steve steps forward to meet him halfway.

“Coffee,” Bucky says in lieu of greeting and thrusts his hand out.

“Hello to you too,” Steve says and hands him the coffee.

Bucky hums briefly and lifts the take-out cup to his lips. He takes a long swig and when he lowers the cup again, he lets out a satisfied exhale and licks his lips.

Steve eyes flicker down to follow the movement, unashamed.

“That's what I needed,” Bucky says. “Thank you.”

“You're thanking me for bribery now?”

“Not bribery. Payment. And my mama raised me to be polite, so yes.”

Steve rolls his eyes and steps into his space. With his now free hand, he grabs onto Bucky's hip and pulls him a little closer to himself before he leans in and kisses him softly but firmly.

Bucky smiles against his lips and kisses back.

“Morning,” Steve says quietly once they part.

“Morning,” Bucky echoes and kisses him once more, a quick peck.

Steve returns it, then he steps back. “Sorry for waking you up,” he says.

“It's okay,” Bucky says. “You got me coffee and— where's my pastry?”

Steve holds it up with a smile.

“Ah,” Bucky says and grabs it, taking a bite. “Thanks.”

His mouth is full so it sounds more like _fanks_.

Steve snorts at him.

“Alright,” Bucky says after chewing. “Let's go, shall we?”

Steve nods and says, “Let's go.”

Bucky leads him to a pet store a few blocks down. It's big and divided into different sections with helpful signs naming each; dog, cat, reptiles, fish, etc. The dog section is the biggest and nearest but they walk right by it until they reach the cat section, Steve pushing the cart.

Bucky helps him pick out everything he needs for Dusk. He picks out a bed that looks comfortable though Steve has a feeling she won't be using it much. He puts it in the cart anyway. He gets food and water bowls in a set as well as a bag of cat food. He buys a litter box and litter and toys and a collar that might be too big and everything she needs and then some.

When they pile it all onto the pickup, it ends up almost taking up the whole bed and makes a good little dent in his bank account. But it's what she needs and he has the money to spare, even after transferring it to an account with another name. Who else would he spend it on?

“Thank you,” Steve says and turns to Bucky, “for helping me, even on your day off.”

Bucky looks at him, then he smiles and says, “One day, you're gonna get it through that thick head of yours that your friends don't consider helping as work, _especially_ your boyfriend. Which is what I am, Steve. I'll help you anytime.”

“You don't—”

“Tell me I don't have to and see what happens.”

Steve pauses and blinks at him.

“You don't have to,” he says because he can't not.

Bucky smacks the back of his head.

Steve laughs. “Ow.”

“That's what you get,” Bucky says and points a finger at him. “Say it again and the hits will keep on coming.”

Steve smiles and says, “Guess I'll have to get used to being hit then.”

“As if you aren't already.”

“Aliens hit harder than you. That? That was nothing.”

“It was a warning smack.”

“A weak one.”

“Oh, you little—”

Bucky raises his hand to smack him again but Steve is quick to grab his wrist to keep him from doing it. Bucky stares at him, lips tight but a smile evident at the corners anyway. His hand curls into a fist but he doesn't try to get Steve to let go.

So Steve doesn't.

“You know,” Bucky says, “if you like getting punched, maybe that's not a good punishment.”

“No? Then what else you got?”

Bucky looks at him for a long moment then he drops his eyes to his lips.

Steve holds his breath, heart leaping into his throat.

Bucky hums quietly and says, “Guess you're just gonna have to find out.”

“You're teasing me,” Steve says quietly, watching him closely.

“You can handle it.”

“Who says I can?”

Bucky meets his eye and smiles. “Maybe that's your punishment then,” he says.

Steve scoffs halfheartedly and tugs at his arm to pull him in for a kiss.

With a chuckle, Bucky kisses back.  
  


✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰  
  


It takes a couple weeks for Dusk to settle into a routine.

Most morning when Steve wakes up, she has curled herself into a ball on the pillow next to his head. She's usually still sleeping right until he sits up and then she's immediately all over him. He makes them both breakfast and if the weather is nice, they'll eat it outside on the porch. If not, he puts Dusk's food in the windowsill and eats his own at the table.

Dusk always finishes first, inhaling her food like it's the last meal she'll have in a while.

When breakfast is gone and eaten, Steve will go outside to work on something around the property. He always leaves either the door or a window open at the house so Dusk can roam wherever she wants and return whenever she feels like it.

Most days, she comes back before dawn.

Some days, she doesn't come back until breakfast.

Which is fine. Steve takes care of her when she wants him to. The rest of the time, she can do whatever she wants. She's her own cat and not one he wants to be an indoor cat when she's clearly not that.

It's a nice routine and having Dusk there makes the place feel a little less empty.

She's good for him.  
  


✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰  
  


In September, Bucky leaves to spend a week with his grandparents at his sister's place in California because he hasn't seen them since passover in April. He invites Steve over to his place to spend the night the day before he leaves and Steve doesn't have to think about it for even a second before he says yes and packs an overnight bag.

Steve picks up some takeout on the way over and they eat it on the couch while watching a movie that Bucky has talked about more than once. While they do, Steve sits leaned against the arm of the couch and Bucky sits on the other end with his legs crisscross and his prosthetic off.

The movie has been going for a while at this point and Steve can't focus on it for the life of him.

He wants to but his mind is somewhere else entirely.

Bucky notices because of course he does.

“Okay,” he says as he pauses the movie. “Where's your head at?”

Steve hums and blinks owlishly at him. “What?”

“You keep staring at me,” Bucky says, “and not watching the movie. Where's your head?”

Steve doesn't say anything, not right away. He looks at Bucky for a long moment, then he takes in a deep breath and sits up a little. He puts the food in his hand down on the table without taking his eyes off Bucky.

“You're leaving tomorrow,” he says.

“For a week, yeah. And then I'm coming right back.”

“Right. And, uh.” Steve swallows thickly. “What if I said I'm ready?”

“Ready?”

“For the next step.”

“You mean—”

“Yes.”

“Oh.”

Bucky stares at him, eyes a little wider and cheeks a little pink.

Steve holds his gaze, his heart pounding.

“Right now?” Bucky asks.

Steve nods.

“I... don't have any condoms.”

“I do,” Steve says. “In my bag.”

Bucky narrows his eyes. “Did you come here expecting to get laid?”

“Expecting? No. Hoping?” Steve shrugs. “A little, maybe.”

Bucky looks at him. Then he stands up and holds out his hand.

Steve slides his own into it and lets himself be pulled to his feet.

Bucky leads him into the bedroom. The door closes behind them and Bucky pushes him down to sit on the edge of the bed. He doesn't join him and instead stands in front of him, still holding his hand and now holding his gaze as well.

Steve looks up at him and tries to ignore his pounding heart.

“Why now?” Bucky asks him.

“I don't know,” Steve says. “Because I want you.”

“And you didn't before?”

“'Course I did. But I wasn't ready for it.”

“And now you are.”

“Now I am.”

Bucky nods, then he climbs into Steve's lap and sits down.

Instantly, Steve's cock twitches in his jeans.

“For the record,” Bucky says and lets go of his hand to put it on his shoulder, “I haven't been with anyone in a long time either.”

“I know,” Steve says and places his hands on Bucky's hips. “And if you're not ready, we'll wait.”

Bucky gives him a look. “I literally just dragged you into my bed.”

Steve grins at him and tugs him further into his lap.

Bucky groans and pushes him down onto the bed. “I hate you, punk.”

“No, you don't.”

“Yes, I do.”

“No, you—”

Steve's words get swallowed up when Bucky leans over him and kisses him.  
  


✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰  
  


In the morning before Bucky gets into his cab, Steve spends half an hour kissing him stupid in bed, both still naked and a little sticky from the night before. Bucky lets him until the last possible minute and despite Steve trying to keep him in his arms for a little while longer, Bucky eventually manages to detach Steve from him and gets ready.

They kiss each other one last time on the steps to the building and then Bucky gets into his cab and goes. Steve stands on the sidewalk and watches him for a lot longer than he probably should, long after the cab has gone out of sight.

Maybe it's his post-orgasm brain talking but he thinks he might be in love.  
  


✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰  
  


Steve has some long days without Bucky but he makes due. He finds other way to occupy his time with when he's not working on his farm. He spends some time with Dusk, reads, crosses a couple non-farm related things off a list in his notebook, sketches a couple buildings while he eats lunch at his and Bucky's coffee shop one evening.

It's not so bad, though he misses Bucky something fierce.

On the third day without him, Sam stops by.

Steve is out by the pasture, his sleeves rolled up to above his elbows as he tries to clean one of the troughs, when he hears someone approach on foot down the trail leading down the slight hill from the house. He looks up, squints at the sun, and smiles when he sees Sam.

“Well, well,” he calls out as he stands upright. “If it isn't Captain America himself!”

“And if it isn't old McDonald!” Sam calls back.

Steve chuckles and tips his imaginary hat. “Howdy,” he says.

Sam smiles widely and points a finger at him. “I'm gonna tell Natasha you said that.”

“Please don't. I have a feeling it won't end well.”

“It won't,” Sam says and stops on the other side of the fence. “Which is why I'm gonna do it.”

Steve groans and shakes his head. “You're a son of a bitch, Sam.”

“That I am,” Sam says, then he looks around. “This place is starting to look nice.”

“Not bad, huh?”

“Not bad at all. You've done good with it.”

“Thank you.”

Sam is quiet for a beat. He clears his throat and asks, “You got a minute to talk?”

Steve looks at him. “Always,” he says with a nod.

They relocate to the porch. Steve sits down on a chair and Sam sits down on the one next to it. The chairs are turned slightly toward each other but still open enough for a perfect view of the farm before them.

Steve doesn't look out at it though. He looks at Sam.

“What's up?” he asks when Sam doesn't start.

“Nat and I have been talking,” Sam says, “and... we want to stop hiding.”

“Okay,” Steve says slowly. “I think that's a good idea. You've been hiding for long enough.”

“Right. There's just one problem.”

“Which is?”

“You.”

Steve blinks owlishly at him. “Me?”

“You,” Sam repeats. “If Nat and I step out of the shadows, people are gonna ask about you sooner or later. Especially now that I've been using your shield.”

“It's not mine,” Steve says.

“ _Cap's_ shield, then.”

Steve exhales and slumps back in his seat. “I suppose you're right,” he mutters.

“So. What do you want us to tell them? We can just say _no comment_ and let that be that.”

Steve thinks about it for a minute.

“No,” he says. “Tell them I'm dead.”

Sam stares at him. “Dead,” he repeats flatly.

“Yeah,” Steve says. “Tell them I died fighting Thanos.”

“Why—”

“I'm tired, Sam. If they find out I'm alive, someone is gonna come looking. And then it's only a matter of time before they find me and drag me back into that life. I'm happy here. Or getting there, at least. I don't want to mess this up. So yes, tell them I'm dead.”

“You're gonna break a lot of hearts with that.”

“That's okay. I've died before.”

Sam studies him quietly. “You're sure about this,” he says. It's not a question.

“I am,” Steve says. “I'm ready to have a life. I can't do that with Steve Rogers alive.”

“Okay,” Sam says and smiles. “Rest in peace then, I suppose.”

“I plan on it.”  
  


✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰  
  


The news hit a couple days later.

Steve doesn't see it when it happens, both because he has been staying away from the internet ever since Sam visited and because he's out of the house and nowhere near a news outlet anyway. He's in the grocery store carrying a nearly full basket when his phone suddenly starts vibrating in his pocket.

It's Bucky. He smiles and presses _accept call_.

“Hey, Buck,” he answers with.

“Oh, good,” Bucky replies in a deadpan voice. “You're not dead.”

Steve pauses and blinks down at the apple in his free hand.

“So,” he says. “I'm guessing they're out of hiding now.”

“Sure are,” Bucky says. “They broke twitter the second the press release aired.”

“And?”

“And my boyfriend is dead, apparently.”

Steve puts the apple back. “I was gonna talk to you about that,” he says.

“I'm not mad,” Bucky says. “I just wish you would've given me a heads up so I wouldn't have almost had a heart attack in the middle of dinner. You scared the shit out of me, Steve.”

“I'm sorry,” Steve says with a cringe. “I, uh. I didn't really think.”

“Yeah, you tend to not do that,” Bucky says with a sigh. “But you're forgiven. Next time you decide to do something stupid though, give me a heads up so I can be prepared.”

“How do you know there's gonna be a next time?”

“Because you're you and I know you're always gonna do something stupid.”

Steve smiles to himself. “Regret being with me yet?”

“Sometimes. The other times remind me why I put up with you anyway.”

Steve chuckles and smiles down at his shoes when Bucky joins him.

“I miss you,” he tells him.

“It's been five days, Steve.”

“Five days too long.”

Bucky scoffs, though halfheartedly. “Clingy bastard,” he says.

“You like it.”

“You're lucky I do.”

Bucky stays on the phone with him until Steve steps into line at the check-out with a full basket. And when he gets into his pickup after loading the three bags of groceries onto the passenger's seat next to him, there's a text from Bucky waiting for him.

It's a picture; a selfie of him and his sister, twin smiles on their faces.

Steve smiles back and saves it to his phone.  
  


✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰  
  


Bucky returns to town a few days later.

Steve gets a text from him just after six pm telling him that he's coming over so Steve makes an extra portion of chicken/vegetable stir-fry and sets the table for one more person. He places a piece of tin foil over both plates to keep the food warm and then he heads out to the porch to welcome him.

Bucky is stepping out of his parked car when Steve opens the front door. Bucky looks at him and smiles widely. Steve smiles back and doesn't wait a single second to walk over to him. He meets him halfway and grabs his face, holding him there for a second. Then he leans in and kisses him, over and over while Bucky smiles into each one.

It's only been eight days but that's still eight days too long.

Eventually, Steve stops peppering Bucky with kisses and looks at him instead.

He doesn't let go of his face.

“Hi,” he says quietly.

“Hi,” Bucky echoes. “Did you miss me?”

“No,” Steve says and smiles. “Not even a little.”

“Good,” Bucky says. “I didn't miss you either.”

Steve huffs and kisses him once more before he lets go and steps back.

“You hungry?” he asks.

“Not particularly.”

Steve lifts a brow. “No?”

Bucky shakes his head and steps into his space, teeth digging into his bottom lip.

Steve looks at him and smiles when Bucky grabs onto his hips.

“Did you come here expecting to get laid?”

“Expecting?” Bucky leans into him and smiles an inch from his lips. “Very much so.”

Steve huffs and presses a quick kiss to his lips.

“Food can wait,” he decides as he slides his hands around Bucky to grab at him.

“Food can wait,” Bucky agrees and grinds against him.

Steve steps back and grabs his hand. He drags him inside and into the bedroom.

The food can wait.  
  


✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰  
  


“Oh, _fuck_.”

Steve will never get tired of hearing Bucky moan. It's like music to his ears and it shoots right through his body, making him hot and tingly and aroused. And the taste of him on his tongue is one that he wants to have forever and whenever possible.

Bucky is on his front on the bed, knees bend to keep his bottom up and legs spread wide. His hand is clutching at the sheets, yanking on them and tugging the corners out from under the mattress. His face is buried in one of the pillow, turned sideways so he can breathe.

Steve is between his legs, face buried and hands keeping his cheeks spread.

His beard is covered in spit and he wouldn't have it any other way.

“Fuck,” Bucky chokes out again. “Shit, Steve. You're gonna give me so much beard burn.”

Steve licks into him one more time, then he leans back and licks his lips. “Want me to stop?”

“Don't you fucking dare,” Bucky practically growls and reaches behind to grab onto Steve's head and push him forward again.

Steve chuckles and goes willingly, burying his face between Bucky's cheeks.

It doesn't take much before Bucky comes. He suddenly clenches after only a few more minutes and thrusts forward as he spills onto the sheets with a deep moan. Afterward, he flops down, panting and legs still spread, and the last bit of Steve's resistance flies out the window.

He gets a hand on himself and comes onto Bucky's naked back after only a couple pumps. He gives himself a minute or two to catch his breath and come down from his high a little before he lays down next to Bucky on the bed and turns his head toward him.

Bucky is already looking at him, a dopey smile on his lips.

“You're good at that,” he tells him.

“Eating you out?”

Bucky hums in affirmation.

“That's good,” Steve says. “I like doing it.”

Bucky shifts closer to him, pulling himself up a little. “Do it anytime,” he says.

“Anytime?” Steve repeats and quirks a brow.

“Well.” Bucky shrugs a shoulder. “When the time calls for it.”

Steve smiles and snakes an arm underneath him. “Noted.”

Bucky smiles back and dips down to kiss him.

“Your mouth tastes like ass,” he mumbles against his lips.

“That's not stopping you,” Steve says, his hand traveling down the length of Bucky's back.

“No,” Bucky says and shifts closer. “That's not stopping me.”

Steve wraps both arms around him and pulls him down for another kiss.  
  


✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰  
  


There are time where Steve still wonders if retiring was the right decision to make.

Sometimes he hears something on the news that pulls that need to help and makes him want to call Sam or Natasha or anyone and ask if they need an extra hand in helping save the world. He knows what the answer will be but sometimes he thinks about it, considers it even.

But never he does, even when those doubts come back again.

Now, with Bucky asleep with his head pillowed on his chest, is not one of those times.

This is one of those times where Steve is glad he made the decision he did.

He wouldn't have this if he hadn't. He wouldn't be building a life.

This was the right call.  
  


✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰  
  


September ends and November brings the funeral of Steve Rogers.

Sam gives him a heads up about it the day before so Steve stays away from the internet and avoids any and all news outlet, keeping his television off just in case. He doesn't want to witness it, doesn't want to see how many people are heartbroken with this decision, and he definitely doesn't want to see what the world has to say about it or what they'll remember about him.

Some of it might be good but he died known as a fugitive and outlaw so he doesn't expect much to be good, especially not from government officials. The public might be in his favor and remember him fondly but he doesn't want to see it happening in real time.

He's died before but he wasn't around to see the aftermath then.

He is now and he wants no part of it.

Steve finds ways to busy himself on the day instead. He works on fixing the stable doors in the barn until noon comes around and then he drives to the community center in town. There's a group therapy session at one but Steve shows up twenty minutes early to help the host — an elderly Native man named Jeremiah — set up and get ready.

He needs the distraction, after all.

Jeremiah is carrying a stack of chairs when he steps inside. He's visibly struggling and Steve doesn't hesitate to walk over and take them from him. Jeremiah has told stories of being shot when he was younger and how the bullet shattered his kneecap so now he has trouble walking and has back pains and Steve doesn't want make that worse when he can help.

“Ah, mr. Roth,” Jeremiah says and exhales when the chairs are taken away. “Thank you.”

“Anytime,” Steve says. The chairs weigh nothing to him. “Where do you want these?”

“Over here in a circle. Usual spots, please.”

Steve nods and walks over to the middle of the room where he puts the stack down. He pulls one up in each hand and sets them down to start the circle. Jeremiah joins him, taking one chair at a time while Steve goes back and grabs two more.

“You got no one to help you with this?” Steve asks, partway through the circle.

“I do,” Jeremiah says. “But Ree is sick and Harold is out getting snacks for the group.”

“And you got any other helpers?”

“No other helpers. So I have to set up myself when they aren't here.”

Steve hums and frowns down at his shoes. He doesn't move for a few seconds as his mind races though it doesn't come to a solution before he snaps himself out of it and goes over to pick up another couple chairs from the stack.

“You know,” Jeremiah says. “We could always use the extra help around here. If you're interested.”

Steve pauses and looks at him. “You want me to volunteer,” he says. “Here.”

“I do,” Jeremiah says with a nod. “You're young and strong. We could use that.”

Steve isn't young. Hell, he's even older than Jeremiah but he doesn't say that. Here, in this town, he isn't Steve Rogers. Steve Rogers is dead and currently being buried. Here, he is someone else, someone who wasn't born in 1918 and has lived a life both too long and too short.

Steve doesn't say that. Instead, he merely stares at Jeremiah.

“And you're quiet,” Jeremiah adds, “which would be a nice change from Harold's never-ending yapping.”

Steve chuckles. “I'll, uh.” He scratches at his neck. “I'll think about it.”

“That's all I ask,” Jeremiah says and smiles at him.

Steve inhales deeply, then he nods and smiles back.

He doesn't talk during group this time either. He has only talked once before when they talked about losing loved ones and he needed to talk about his mom, Peggy, the Howlies, his friends. He kept it as vague as possible but hasn't found a way to make everything else vague enough to not give anything away.

Everything said in group stays in group, as Jeremiah says at the start of every session, but these are people and Steve doesn't trust people easily. Especially not ones he doesn't know too well yet.

Maybe one day he will. Hopefully, at least.  
  


✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰  
  


Steve wakes up on a surprising warm morning like any other toward the end of the month. Dusk is curled up on the pillow next to his head like so many other mornings and he smiles at her before his eyes are even fully open. Her whiskers twitch a little in her sleep, her paws kneading the air slowly.

He reaches over and strokes a hand down along her side. She opens her eyes and blinks blearily at him but she's up in an instant the second he sits up. She hops up, stretches, and nuzzles her head under his chin for just a moment before she hops off the bed and trots out of the room.

Steve follows her after getting dressed in his usual clothes. He makes a stop at the bathroom to empty his bladder and make himself look somewhat presentable, even though he doubts he'll be going anywhere other than his own property today.

He finds Dusk sitting on the kitchen counter with an expectant look in her big eyes. Steve scratches her head and makes them both breakfast that he decides to eat inside. He puts Dusk's in the windowsill and eats his own at the table and when Dusk finishes, she meows until he opens the window and lets her out.

Steve cleans up in the kitchen before he steps into his boots and heads out to the farm.

It takes him a couple minutes too long after walking around the whole property before he realizes that there is nothing left to work on.

Nothing.

Things are fixed and repaired and replaced and it looks good. The fence stands tall and sturdy, the barn looks nice, the stables are cleaned and usable, everything looks a hundred times better than when he arrived. It looks brand new.

Steve... doesn't know what to do with himself.

He stands on the trail for a minute. Then he hops into his pickup and drives off.  
  


✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰  
  


_Barnes' Bakery_ hasn't opened yet when he gets there but it's almost seven am which means Bucky will be in the back baking away and preparing the breakfast buns for the day. The back door is unlocked so Steve walks in through the alley and follows the sound of music streaming out from the kitchen.

There he finds Bucky exactly how he expected to find him; sleeves rolled up to his elbows, hands covered with gloves as they knead the dough laid out on the table in front of him. He's swaying a little in tact to the music playing. Steve has heard this song before and knows it's one of Bucky's favorites but he doesn't know the name.

Steve watches him for a minute, leaning against the door frame with his arms crossed.

“Good morning,” he says then, loud over the music.

Bucky doesn't startle. He stops kneading and looks over his shoulder. There's a smile on his lips even before he has turned all the way around and Steve can do nothing but smile back. Bucky's smile is infectious and Steve isn't immune.

“Hey,” Bucky says. “You're here early.”

“Yeah, well...” Steve trails off with a shrug and steps further inside. He walks over to one of the empty tables and hops up onto it, hands grasping the edge.

When he looks back up, he sees Bucky frowning at him.

“What's wrong?” Bucky asks him.

Steve considers lying but instead he says, “I'm done.”

“Done?”

“With the farm,” Steve clarifies. “It's fixed.”

“Congratulations,” Bucky says with a smile that slips only seconds after. “That's good. Right?”

Steve shrugs. “Sure.”

Bucky stares at him. “You don't think it's good.”

“It's... it _is_ good. But I...” Steve sighs, deflates a little. “What now?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean... what do I do now?”

“Whatever you want.”

“That's the problem,” Steve says. “I don't know what I want. I have all this time and that was fine when I had something to keep myself busy with but now... I have no idea what the hell I'm supposed to do now.”

Bucky is quiet for a minute as he turns back to kneading.

“And you're afraid you're gonna spiral and feel guilty again,” he says because he has him figured out.

“Kind of,” Steve admits. “I don't miss being Cap or the Nomad. I miss that I had something to do. Always. I miss that that something was good work that helped people. But I don't miss how it effected me and still effects me mentally. It's been good since I retired and I haven't felt guilty in a while now.”

“But you're bored.”

“I'm so fucking bored.”

“Okay,” Bucky says and looks at him. “So we find your next project.”

Steve looks at him in silence for a minute.

Then he slides off the table and saunters over toward him. He walks up behind him and rests his hands on his hips, sliding them around just an inch only to tug him back toward him. He leans in and leaves a soft kiss on Bucky's neck, smiling when he hears Bucky hum appreciatively.

“Maybe my next project should be you,” Steve says and presses himself against him.

Bucky snorts and says, “I can't be your kept boy, Steve. I got a business to run.”

Steve hums. “Shame,” he mutters and kisses Bucky's neck again.

Bucky doesn't finish the breakfast buns on time.  
  


✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰  
  


With all this extra time, Steve reads.

He starts at the top of a list in his notebook that he hasn't touched in ages, too busy with other things to let himself catch up on all the things he missed during his absence. There's a lot of lists in his notebook and Bucky has made him a new one, has given him more suggestions in case he runs out too fast.

Steve makes a significant dent in the lists over the next month but he doesn't come any closer to finding out what his next project will be. Bucky doesn't either but Steve doesn't blame him; he's the one who keeps shooting down his suggestions after all.

Bucky leaves for Hanukkah and Steve decides to say yes to an invite to play cards with a few people from group. It turns out to be more fun than he expected it to even though he loses more times than he wins.

At New Year's, Steve kisses Bucky stupid under the fireworks when midnight arrives.

It's a good way to end and start the new year.  
  


✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰  
  


On a cold day in the middle of January. Steve gets a text from Clint.

› From Clint, _13:28_ : ur farm has stables right?

‹ To Clint, _13:29_ : It does.

› From Clint, _13:29_ : cool. how do u feel about horses?

He stares down at the text. He... doesn't know how to answer that.

‹ To Clint, _13:30_ : I don't know. I've never been around horses before.

Clint calls him a second later. He never calls because phone calls aren't the most optimal things when you're deaf so Steve is hesitant to pick it up at first. Maybe it was an accident. But the call doesn't disconnect and his phone continues ringing so Steve picks up.

“Hello,” he answers, a little uncertainly.

“I can't hear you,” Clint says, “so here's Barney.”

There's some movement on the other end and then Barney says, “Hi, Steve.”

“Hey, Barney,” Steve says. “What's this about horses?”

“Got a horse that needs a place to stay,” Barney says. “Some folks in Texas contacted me about a rescue a couple days ago and I'd take her but I got no empty stalls left at my place. I know you got brand new and empty ones so I was gonna ask if you would be interested in taking her in.”

Steve blinks. “I don't know how to take care of a horse,” he says.

“That's alright,” Barney says. “We can teach you the basics. Doesn't have to be forever, either. You can just give her a roof over her head while I look for her forever home somewhere else. You can foster her.”

Steve pauses and thinks about it. He looks out over the porch railing and toward the barn in the distance. He has no idea how to care for a horse or even if he likes them since he has never been around one before.

But his stables are empty. And he did rebuild them.

It would be a shame not to put them to use.

Especially when someone needs it.

“Okay,” he says. “I'll give her a place to stay for now.”  
  


✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰  
  


The horse arrives a week later.

Steve stands with his arms crossed over his chest and Clint next to him while Barney leads her out of the trailer parked ahead of them. She's gorgeous, is his first thought when she steps out. She's a dark and warm brown color that fades into black as it travels down her legs toward her hooves. Her mane is almost charcoal and shines in the winter sun, long and billowy.

She's skinny like she hasn't been eating right. It reminds Steve of when he saw Dusk for the first time, though he couldn't see her ribs as much as he can on this horse. It makes him angry to see a creature so uncared for and he clenches his fists, hides them in his pits.

“This is Prince,” Clint says next to him.

Steve looks at him, brows furrowed ever so slightly. “Prince?” he asks.

“Yep,” Clint says. “Prince. Like the artist.”

Steve blinks at him.

“You don't know Prince?”

Steve shakes his head. “Should I?”

“Maybe not. Put him on one of your lists. I think you'll like him.”

Steve nods. He'll do that later.

“And,” Clint adds and smiles at him, “I think you're gonna like her too.”

Steve looks back at Prince and doesn't reply to that.

Barney leads her down the trail toward the pasture by the barn. Steve follows a bit behind along with Clint while Clint tells him all the ways to take care of a horse, specifically how to take care of Prince, and Steve is listening.

Really, he is.

Though only partially because his attention keeps gravitating toward the horse ahead of him.

When they make it to the pasture, Barney takes her inside and takes the lead off. He leaves her there and closes the gate behind him before he walks over to join Steve and Clint where they have made themselves comfortable on the other side of the fence.

Prince looks a bit uncertain at first but it's not long before she starts walking around and getting familiar with the area, walking around the perimeter in a slow walk that eventually becomes a trot.

In the sunlight, she looks beautiful.

Steve watches her while Barney gives him instructions and tells him the basics and Steve makes an effort to listen carefully this time. This may not be her forever home but the least he can do is take care of her right until she finds that home.

“If you have any questions, at any time,” Barney says, “you got my number.”

“Yeah,” Steve says. “You're probably gonna hear a lot from me.”

Barney pats his shoulder and says, “You're gonna do fine.”

Steve sends him a quick smile. He hopes he will.  
  


✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰  
  


After Barney and Clint leave, Steve stays out by the pasture for a while.

Dusk joins him eventually. She hops up and lays down on the fence post next to where Steve has his arms rested. She butts her head against the bare skin of his forearm and he lifts a hand to pet her and scratch her behind her ear but he doesn't look down at her.

He can't take his eyes off Prince. She's prancing around the pasture now, running in circles and whinnying and throwing her head. She looks like she's enjoying herself and loving all the space around her and Steve has never been more enchanted with a creature before.

He has a sinking feeling that she's never had this— this much space to run around in, this freedom, a place to call home even if it's not permanent— before. It breaks his heart, makes him want to do... something about it.

Steve doesn't look away, not even when she suddenly stops and looks over in his direction. He merely smiles at her even though he knows, logically, that smiling probably means nothing to her. She probably doesn't even understand it.

Slowly, Prince comes walking over toward him. He doesn't move and stays where he is when she comes to stand on the other side of the fence, barely a foot away from him. She looks at him and he looks back, unmoving even though his heart is racing in his chest.

She's a big creature and it's terrifying.

But the look in her dark eyes is gentle and curious.

On a whim, Steve very slowly raises his hand and holds it up, palm facing her. She stares at him for a long, long moment before she moves. He holds his breath when she leans forward and puts her forehead against his palm.

Steve smiles at her, caressing her carefully with his thumb.

Yeah, he thinks. This could be his next project.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> rebloggable post on [tumblr](https://mlmsrogers.tumblr.com/post/184899187973).
> 
> kudos and comments give me life!


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> top surgery preparations start tomorrow and i probably won't have time to post anything so you get the final chapter today too. thank you so much to everyone who's been reading!
> 
> hover over the text for the translation. if you're on a mobile device, translation will be in the end notes.

Steve takes in a couple more horses over the next month. Both are rescues much like Prince. One is named Teddy who was rescued from a home that was swallowed up by a wildfire and the other is named Samson who walks with a minor limp and has been transferred from foster home to foster home.

It's a week after Samson arrives that Steve can't fool himself anymore.

Or anyone else, for that matter.

“This isn't a foster home,” he tells Barney over the phone one day.

Barney is silent on the other end. “Meaning?” he asks.

“I wanna adopt them,” Steve says. “Prince, Teddy, Samson. All three.”

“Good,” Barney says. “I figured they'd win you over eventually.”

So Steve signs the papers and officially adopts them a couple days later.

Nothing changes for them and they won't even know it but it feels big for him after he's put his signature on the line and can call them _his_. Dusk has already accepted each of them too though she's closer to Teddy than Prince and Samson.

They like each other, those two. Dusk stays on the farm more than she wanders now.

They're good for each other, Steve thinks.  
  


✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰  
  


A week after he's signed the papers, Natasha comes by.

Steve has his sleeves rolled up above his elbows and is cleaning out one of the stables in the barn when there's a knock on the wooden wall behind him. He stands upright, shovel in his hands, and looks over his shoulder.

Natasha is standing in the doorway, a smile on her lips and hands behind her back. Her hair is much shorter now, cut to above her ears with her fringe hanging down her forehead and swept to the side but it's still her natural red. It suits her.

“Nat,” he says and turns to her, a smile on his lips. “I didn't know you were coming over.”

“Surprise,” Natasha says. “I wanted to stop by, congratulate you on the adoption.”

Steve huffs, a little smile on his lips. “Thank you,” he says.

“And,” she continues and takes a step forward. “I wanted to give you this.”

Natasha steps into the stable. She keeps her hands behind her back and there's a little grin curling at the corners of her lips, a glint in her eye.

Steve narrows his eyes at her.

She stops in front of him and then pulls a cowboy hat out from behind her back. Steve gives her a deadpan stare but does nothing when she reaches up and places it on his head.

When she goes back down, she looks at him with a wide and toothy grin.

“I'm not a cowboy,” he tells her flatly.

“Yeehaw,” she says.

Steve keeps his deadpan stare on her for a while but then he cracks a smile, can't help it when Natasha shoots finger guns at him and waggles her brows. He rolls his eyes with an amused huff and wraps an arm around her to pull her in for a hug. She goes willingly, chuckling as she wraps both her arms around his middle and hugs him.

“I've missed you, dickhead,” he says.

“Missed you too, брат,” Natasha says in a quiet whisper.

They stand there for a bit, wrapped around each other and neither willing to let go.

They talk often, he and Natasha. Texting most days and skype calls when they can which has turned out to not be as often as Steve would like but once or twice every few weeks is better than not seeing her at all.

Sam is there sometimes too, though he's a lot busier now that he has picked up the shield and has the world watching his every move. And, they both have the government to deal with again.

They're working on it, he's been told by both Sam and Maria.

With Sam as the new Captain America, things have been going a little smoother.

“How long are you staying?” Steve asks after a couple minutes.

“How long until lunch?” Natasha asks.

Steve smiles into her hair. “Not long when you ask like that,” he says.

Natasha tilts her head up and smiles toothily at him.

Steve can't help but smile back.  
  


✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰  
  


“Bucky's coming over.”

They're making sandwiches. Steve is slicing the bread and cutting the meat while Natasha assembles them next to him, holding her hand out until he places the next layer in her palm. They've made a couple so far but with both their appetite (Natasha doesn't eat quite as much as Steve but it's close) they're gonna need a lot more.

“Are you finally gonna introduce me to your boyfriend?” Natasha asks, sounding too excited.

Steve hums and nods. “Please don't embarrass me,” he says.

“I make no promises.”

“Nat...”

“What? Isn't family supposed to embarrass each other around significant others?”

Steve pauses and looks at her.

He knows that Natasha has never had a family before and moments like these— something that is so close to being normal family things— are as important to her as they are to him. If not more.

He never had siblings but Natasha is as close to a sister as he's going to get and while part of him is dreading introducing Bucky to her, another part is really looking forward to it. Both Natasha and Bucky are important people and he wants them to meet and get along.

Sam has already met Bucky, though on his own. Steve wants to introduce Bucky to his family too, as his boyfriend. He makes a mental note to plan a dinner sometime. The house is done, after all. Why not?

“I wouldn't know,” he says to Natasha. “I never brought home a significant other before.”

Natasha shrugs a shoulder and says, “First time for everything.”

Steve takes in a deep breath and hums.  
  


✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰  
  


Lunch goes surprisingly well, not that he expected it to be a disaster.

But it's surprising because Steve knows what Natasha is like when she meets new people. She puts on a smile and a mask and assess the person. Observes and treats them like a mission rather than a potential friend. She doesn't let people get near her before she knows them well enough — and well enough usually means after a near death experience, in Steve's experience.

She's not like that when she meets Bucky.

Her smile isn't fake or forced. Rather, it's genuine and while there is a wall up, she doesn't keep it up for very long and lets it drop surprisingly quick. She lets it crumble with a laugh while her mouth is full and doesn't try to hide it or stifle it in any way, like she might if her wall was still up.

Steve smiles at her and she smiles back.

Neither of them have to say anything but they both understand.

After the sandwiches are eaten and gone, they relocate to the back porch with warm drinks in hand. Steve sits down on the two-person chair and rests his arm along the back and around Bucky who sits down next to him, plastered to his side and his right hand resting just above his knee.

Natasha sits on the chair beside them, feet up on the table but Steve doesn't tell her not to.

“So tell me,” Bucky says to Natasha. “What's the dumbest thing he's done on a mission?”

“Do you want a list?” Natasha asks with a grin.

“No, he doesn't,” Steve says.

“You don't speak for me,” Bucky says. “I very much do want a list.”

Natasha chuckles and says, “I'll get you one. One day.”

“I'm looking forward to it,” Bucky says and shoots her a smile.

They sit in silence for a minute after but then Bucky sits forward and places his empty cup on the table in front of them. When he sits back up, he turns to Steve and squeezes his leg as he leans toward him.

“I'm gonna give you two a minute,” he says quietly. “Gonna say hi to your kids.”

“They're not—” Steve starts to protest but he's cut off when Bucky kisses him.

He kisses back, of course he does.

He's not one much for public displays of affection, even though he has kissed Bucky out on the street a few times before. Usually not before doing a quick sweep of their surroundings and making sure there are no one around to stare at them.

But Natasha is the only 'public' around them and she's family so he doesn't care.

The kiss lasts barely a second and then Bucky leans back and gives him a smile.

“They are,” he says. “You adopted them. They're your kids now.”

Steve huffs but doesn't argue.

Bucky gets to his feet with a chuckle and ruffles his hair before he walks away and off the porch.

Steve watches him as he follows the trail leading down to the pasture, a smile on his lips as he leans back in his seat. He watches him for maybe a minute before he takes his eyes off him and looks back at Natasha.

Natasha is already looking back at him, a smile on her lips and a look in her eyes.

“What?” he asks her.

“This life,” Natasha says and trails off. “It suits you.”

Steve smiles, small and crooked. “Yeah?”

Natasha hum. “I haven't seen you in a couple months now and I barely recognized you earlier. You know why?”

Steve shakes his head.

“Because you're relaxed.”

Steve pauses and stares at her.

“I don't think I've ever seen you so relaxed before,” she continues. “It's a good look on you.”

Steve smiles at her. He can't deny that. “Thanks,” he says.

“Do you like it here?”

Steve looks at her quietly for a moment, then he takes in a deep breath and looks away.

He looks out over the farm. The sun is standing tall over the property, clouds covering the bright blue sky. The chilly wind is making the trees in the distance dance, the still kept short grass sways quietly.

Out on the pasture, Prince and Samson have their heads down to the ground and nibbling on the grass by their hooves while Teddy is on the other end, sniffling at Dusk who is laying on a fence post with her head tilted toward the sun. She doesn't seem to mind him which is no surprise.

Steve's eyes fall on Bucky next and he watches as he climbs up to sit down on the fence.

“Yeah,” Steve says with a smile on his lips. “This is home.”  
  


✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰  
  


Natasha leaves an hour later but Bucky stays behind.

Steve doesn't see him for a couple hours though because while he stays outside to feed the horses, brush them, and lead them back into their stables once the sun starts going down, Bucky disappears into the house. Dusk follows after him, trotting along with a soft _meow_ and her tail held high.

When he finally heads inside, Steve finds Bucky on the couch. He's spread out with his head pillowed against the armrest. His knees are bend and legs are spread wide open, feet planted on the cushion below. His head is turned toward the television so he doesn't see when Steve steps inside, too consumed by whatever he's watching.

Steve watches him from the doorway for a minute.

But eventually, he gives in and lets himself be drawn to him.

Bucky notices him right before he joins him on the couch and he smiles while Steve makes himself comfortable between Bucky's spread legs. Steve puts his hands on the armrest on either side of Bucky's head and leans over him, smiling too.

“Hi,” Bucky says, attention on him rather than the television.

“Hi,” Steve echoes and then leans down to kiss him.

Bucky kisses him back with a pleased hum and throws his arms around his neck.

The kiss starts innocent enough, nothing but lips lazily sliding together. But then Bucky throws a leg over Steve's hips while bucking upwards and licking insistently at his lips, and Steve can only open his mouth and let the kiss gradually heat up.

Their tongues touch and Steve rolls his hips, grinding down against him. Bucky moans into his mouth and Steve lifts a hand off the armrest to put it on Bucky's thigh that's resting on his own hip. He slides his hand up along his leg, touching him and grabbing as he continues to roll his hips.

It doesn't take long for Bucky's hands to wander. His right stays on the back of Steve's head, holding him and clutching at his hair, while his prosthetic left slides down along his chest to his stomach until he finds the hem of his shirt. It wiggles underneath and he presses his hand against Steve's bare stomach underneath, slowly sliding up and up and up.

The touch makes Steve shudder, the metal cool against his skin. He revels in it, rolling his hips down against Bucky a little more insistently now, for a minute before he leans back and sits up on his knees. He only stays gone for long enough to pull his shirt over his head and toss it away and then he's right back over Bucky, kissing him and welcoming the touch to his bare skin.

Steve is getting hard, his pants tightening around his crotch, and he can feel Bucky is too, pressing against his thigh and not trying to hide it.

After one last deep kiss, Steve leans back and looks down at him.

Bucky looks wrecked already, flushed and panting and lips wet and red.

Three words rest on Steve's tongue but he decides not to say them out loud.

Not yet.

“Wanna head to bed?” he asks instead and kisses him softly.

Bucky hums against his lips and says, “Only if you carry me.”

“I can work with that.”

Steve gets both Bucky's legs around his waist and makes him hook his ankles together, then he wraps his arms around Bucky's middle and pulls him up along with him as he stands and gets off the couch. Bucky isn't light by any means but Steve has lifted a tank before and Bucky is like a feather comparatively.

Bucky grins at him once they're up, shifting against him a little.

“One day,” he says, “I'm gonna have you fuck me exactly like this.”

Steve laughs and says, “That doesn't sound comfortable.”

“It won't be,” Bucky says. “But it'd be hot.”

“For two seconds and then you're gonna complain.”

“Shut up and take me to bed already.”

“Yes, sir.”

Steve walks into the bedroom and kicks the door closed.  
  


✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰  
  


Afterward, Steve rolls off Bucky and flops down next to him on the bed instead. Bucky is still panting and coming down from his high, his arm thrown over his eyes and a mess on his stomach. Steve takes a minute to catch his breath too before he reaches down and pulls off the condom. He ties a knot on it, aims for the trashcan in the corner, and tosses it.

It misses and lands on the floor.

“That was a terrible throw,” Bucky says with a snort.

Steve looks at him and narrows his eyes. “You weren't even looking,” he says.

Bucky lifts his arm and says, “I could hear it.”

Steve scoffs and shifts over toward him. He leans partially over him, one arm thrown over on the other side. Bucky looks up at him with a quirked brow and Steve smiles down at him.

“You're a jerk,” he tells him fondly.

“I know,” Bucky says and smiles back. “You love it.”

Chuckling, Steve dips down and kisses him.

The kiss is short-lived. It's interrupted when Steve's stomach makes an awfully loud grumbling noise and Bucky pushes him away with a hand on his chest and laughs, a startled laugh that starts as a long and disgusting snort.

Steve looks down at him, deadpan.

“Okay,” Bucky says, chuckling as he pats Steve's chest. “Move. I'm gonna make us some dinner.”

Steve doesn't move. “I'm not hungry.”

As if on cue, his stomach grumbles again.

Bucky gives him a look. “Wanna try that lie again?”

“No,” Steve says and starts to lean down again. “Just ignore it.”

“Not a chance,” Bucky says and stops him. “I'm not dealing with hangry Steve, so move.”

Steve makes a face at him but does.

He flops down onto his back with a harrumph and doesn't try to stop him when Bucky gets up and out of bed. He stares up at the ceiling for a moment but then he turns his head and watches as Bucky gets dressed in a pair of Steve's sweatpants and a shirt that sits too loosely on him, the left sleeve flapping as it hangs empty by his side.

Bucky took his prosthetic off when they undressed earlier. It's on the desk now and Bucky doesn't grab it before he leaves the room which is... surprising.

Steve knows Bucky. He knows that Bucky wears that arm almost everywhere for a reason, his own place being the exception, and Steve guesses that reason is because he's uncomfortable without it. He hasn't said it in so many words but Steve can put two and two together.

But Bucky didn't put it on now. Which means he must be comfortable here, without it on.

Steve looks back up at the ceiling and smiles at the thought.

Eventually, Steve gets out of bed too. He doesn't bother getting anything from the closet and just steps into the boxers that he carelessly threw on the ground earlier. He pads out of the bedroom and follows the smell of food to the kitchen.

Bucky has his back turned to him but he must have heard him coming because he pauses what he's doing and looks over his shoulder. He smiles when he sees him, the smile growing wider and slowly turning into a grin when his eyes travel downward.

“Couldn't be bothered with clothes?” he asks, rhetorically.

“This is my house,” Steve says and walks into the kitchen. “I can walk around naked if I want to.”

“Don't hold back on my account,” Bucky says. “But if you come over here and get your dick burned, that's on you.”

“It'd heal.”

“Why do you always gotta be stupid?”

Steve steps up behind him and wraps his arms around his middle, pressing a kiss to his neck. Bucky lets him, even as he huffs as if in protest. But the way he leans back against him and tilts his head a little tells Steve that he likes it.

“'Cause you're fun to annoy,” Steve says.

“Thanks,” Bucky says flatly.

“And,” Steve says lowly and kisses his neck. “I like you in my kitchen.”

Bucky hums and says, “If you keep distracting me, you won't have a kitchen for long.”

“Oh, is this distracting?” Steve asks, lips brushing against his neck while one of his hands snakes its way down the front of Bucky's sweatpants.

It doesn't get far down before Bucky lets go of the spatula and grabs his wrist.

Steve doesn't fight it when his hand is pulled back up but he does make a noise of complaint. He rests his hand on Bucky's hip instead, hooks his chin over his shoulder.

“Yes,” Bucky says. “Go away before you make me burn the food.”

Steve scoffs but detaches himself from Bucky anyway. He walks over to sit down by the table, making himself comfortable on a chair that faces Bucky. He puts his chin in his hands and smiles, eyes locked onto Bucky.

Bucky notices right away.

“Don't you have anything better to do?” he asks.

“Nope,” Steve says.

Bucky sighs. “If you can keep your hands to yourself, you can come help me.”

Steve is back out of the chair in a heartbeat.  
  


✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰  
  


A month from now, Steve will start volunteering at the community center with Jeremiah and his group and he'll expand his ranch by taking in more rescues; a couple more horses, a handful of goats that Bucky takes upon himself to name, a dog that becomes his shadow within the first day of arriving.

But for now he's here; retired and in love and home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "брат" - "brother"
> 
> rebloggable post on [tumblr](https://mlmsrogers.tumblr.com/post/184899187973).
> 
> kudos and comments give me life!


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